PRESNAL  RANCH  SCHOOL 

LIBRARY 


THE   WORKS   OF 
WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


CORNHILL    EDITION 
VOLUME    XVI 


Thackeray 


liVom  the  pencil  drawing  by  D.  Maclise,  R.A.,  by  permission 
of  the  Committee  of  the  Ga.rrick  Club 


SKETCHES 


AND 


TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 


NOTES  OF  A  JOURNEY 


FROM 


CORNHILL  TO  GRAND  CAIRO 


BY 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


WITH  THE  AUTHOR'S  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1911 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


NOTE 

The  papers  brought  together  under  the  head  of 
Sketches  and  Travels  in  London  were  contributed 
to  Fundi  from  1847  to  1850,  over  the  signature  of 
"Spec," — except  "Going  to  See  a  Man  Hanged," 
which  had  appeared  in  Fraser's  Magazine  in  1840,  but 
was  added  to  the  collection  in  the  revised  edition.  Of 
this  last  Mr.  Eyre  Crowe  speaks  in  his  account  of  early 
days  in  the  Coram  Street  house,  and  reflects  the  evi- 
dently deep  impression  of  the  experience  Thackeray 
transmitted  to  those  about  him:  "He  tossed  on  his  pil- 
low, thinking  all  night  of  the  wretch  Courvoisier,  the 
Swiss  valet,  whose  exit  is  described  in  '  Going  to  See  a 
Man  Hanged.'  " 

The  later  sketches  and  travels  were  most  of  them 
written  in  the  Young  Street  study;  Lady  Ritchie  has 
described  his  method  of  work  upon  them  there,  and  upon 

^     the  drawings  with  which  in  most  cases  he  accompanied 
,     them ;  his  daughters  helping  him  by  preparing  the  wood- 

X    blocks,  and  sometimes  the  boy  from  the  Funch  office 

^    "  waiting  in  the  hall. " 

Lady  Ritchie  confirms,  too,  the  statement  often  made, 
that  the  original  of  Whitestock  in  "The  Curate's  Walk" 
was  her  father's  old  friend  William  Brookfield. 


SOICGS 


The  Journey  from  Cornhill  to  Grand  Cairo,  as 
has  been  said  already  in  a  note  to  Barry  Lyndon,  was 
made  in  1844.  The  opportunity  for  it  came  to  him 
in  August,  through  an  offer  of  a  passage  by  the  Penin- 
sular and  Oriental  Company,  and  through  an  agree- 
ment with  Chapman  &  Hall  to  write  a  book  on  the 
East;  but  the  plan,  or  rather  the  hope  of  it,  seems  to 
have  been  an  old  one.  The  final  realization  came  about, 
apparently,  exactly  as  Mr.  Titmarsh  describes  it  in  the 
preface,  including  the  shortness  of  preparation  and 
the  letters  to  his  family— his  mother  and  step-father 
and  his  daughters,  who  were  living  for  the  summer  in 
Belgium,  where  he  had  been  visiting  and  expected  to 
rejoin  them. 

The  Journey  was  not  published  in  book  form  till  1846, 
when  it  appeared  in  a  small  duodecimo  volume. 

The  portrait  used  as  a  frontispiece  is  from  the  pencil 
drawing  by  Maclise,  reproduced  by  the  kind  permis- 
sion of  the  Committee  of  the  Garrick  Club. 


CONTENTS 

SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

PAGE 

Me.  Brown's  Letters  to  his  Nephew: — 3 

On  Tailoring — and  Toilettes  in  General  ...  10 

The  Influence  of  Lovely  Woman  upon  Society  .  17 

Some  More  Words  About  the  Ladies 24 

On  Friendship 31 

Mr.    Brown   the   Elder   Takes   Mr.    Brown    the 

Younger  to  a  Club 43 

A  Word  about  Balls  in  Season 63 

A   Word   about   Dinners 72 

On  Some  Old  Customs  of  the  Dinner-Table       .     79 

Great   and  Little  Dinners 86 

On  Love,  Marriage,  Men,  and  Women 93 

Out  of  Town Ill 

On  a  Lady  in  an  Opera-Box 124 

On  the  Pleasures  of  Being  a  Fogy 132 

Child's  Parties 145 

The  Curate's  Walk 158 

A  Dinner  IN  THE  City 172 

Waiting  at  the  Station 191 

A  Night's  Pleasure 199 

Going  to  See  a  Man  Hanged 233 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

NOTES    OF    A    JOURNEY 
FROM    CORNHILL  TO    GRAND    CAIRO 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Dedication 259 

Preface 261 

I  Vigo.  —  Thoughts    at    Sea  —  Sight    of    Land — Vigo — 

Spanish  Ground  —  Spanish  Troops  —  Pasagero     .      .  265 

II  Lisbon  —  Cadiz. — Lisbon  —  The  Belem  Road — A  School 
— Landscape — Palace  of  Necessidades — Cadiz  — 
The  Rock 274 

III  The  "  Lady  Mauy  Wood."  —  British  Lions — Travel- 

ling Friends — Bishop  No.  2  —  "  Good-by,  Bishop  " 

—  The  Mock  Lieutenant—"  Lady  Mary  Wood  "  .     .  287 

IV  Gibraltar.  —  iMess-Room   Gossip — Military   Horticul- 

ture—"All's  Well  "—A  Release— Gibraltar— Malta 

—  Religion  and   Nobility  —  Malta  Relics — The  La- 
zaretto—  Death  in  the  Lazaretto 296 

V  Athens. — Reminiscences  of  tvt-w — The   Peirasus — 
Landscape — Basileus — England  for  Ever! — Classic 
Remains — ti'ttto)  again 313 

VI  Smyrna  —  First  Glimpses  of  the  East.  —  First  Emo- 
tions—  The  Bazaar — A  Bastinado — Women — The 
Caravan  Bridge — Smyrna — The  Whistler       .     .     .  325 

vn  Constantinople.  —  Caiques  —  Eothen's  "  Misseri  " — A 
Turkish  Bath  — Constantinople — His  Highness  the 
Sultan  —  Ich  mochte  nicht  der  Sultan  seyn — A  Sub- 
ject for  a  Ghazul — The  Child-Murderer — Turkish 
Children  —  ]\Iodesty — The  Seraglio  —  The  Sultanas' 
Puffs — The  Sublime  Porte — The  Schoolmaster  in 
Constantinople 337 

vin  Rhodes. — Jew  Pilgrims  —  Jew  Bargaining — Relics  of 
Chivalry — Mahometanism  Bankrupt — A  Dragoman 
—A  Fine  Day— Rhodes 366 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX  The  White  Squall 377 

X  Telmessus  —  Beyrout.  —  Telmessus  —  Halil  Pasha — 
Beyrout  —  A  Portrait — A  Ball  on  Board — A  Syrian 
Prince 382 

XI  A  Day  and  Night  in  Syria. — Landing  at  Jaffa — 
Jaffa— The  Cadi  of  Jaffa— The  Cadi's  Divan— A 
Night-Scene  at  Jaffa -^Syrian  Night's  Entertain- 
ments       393 

XII  From  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem.  —  A  Cavalcade — March- 
ing Order — A  Tournament — Ramleh — Roadside 
Sketches — Rencontres — Abou  Gosh — Night  before 
Jerusalem 403 

xni  Jerusalem. — A  Pillar  of  the  Church — Quarters  —  Jew- 
ish Pilgrims — Jerusalem  Jews — English  Service — 
Jewish  History — The  Church  of  the  Sepulchre — 
The  Porch  of  the  Sepulchre — Greek  and  Latin 
Legends — The  Church  of  the  Sepulchre — Bethlehem 
— The  Latin  Convent — The  American  Consul — 
Subjects  for  Sketching — Departure — A  Day's 
March— Ramleh 415 

XIV  From   Jaffa   to   Alexandria. — Bill   of  Fare — From 

Jaffa  to  Alexandria 443 

XV  To  Cairo.  — The  Nile— First  Sight  of  Cheops  — The 
Ezbekieh — The  Hotel  d'Orient  —  The  Conqueror 
Waghorn — Architecture — The  Chief  of  the  Hag — 
A  Street-Scene — Arnaoots — A  Gracious  Prince — 
The  Screw-Propeller  in  Egypt— The  "  Rint  "  in 
Egypt— The  Maligned  Orient  —  "  The  Sex"  — Sub- 
jects for  Painters — Slaves — A  Hyde  Park  Moslem 
— Glimpses  of  the  Harem  —  An  Eastern  Acquain- 
tance— An  Egyptian  Dinner — Life  in  the  Desert — 
From  the  Top  of  the  Pyramid  —  Groups  for  Land- 
scape—  Pigmies  and  Pyramids — Things  to  think  of 
—Finis 452 


SKETCHES 


AND 


TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 


SKETCHES 


AND 


TRAVELS  IN   LONDON 


MR.   BROWN'S   LETTERS    TO   HIS 

NEPHEW 

T  is  with  the  greatest  satisfaction,  my 
dear  Robert,  that  I  have  3"ou  as  a 
neighbour,  within  a  couple  of  miles 
of  me,  and  that  I  have  seen  you 
established  comfortably  in  your 
chambers  in  Fig-tree  Court.  The 
situation  is  not  cheerful,  it  is  true; 
and  to  clamber  up  three  pairs  of 
black  creaking  stairs  is  an  exercise 
not  pleasant  to  a  man  who  never 
cared  for  ascending  mountains. 
Nor  did  the  performance  of  the 
young  barrister  who  lives  under 
j^ou — and,  it  appears,  plays  pretty 
constantly  upon  the  French  horn 
— give  me  any  great  pleasure  as  I  sat  and  partook 
of  luncheon  in  your  rooms.  Your  female  attendant 
or  laundress,  too,  struck  me  from  her  personal  ap- 
pearance to  be  a  lady  addicted  to  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits;  and  the  smell  of  tobacco,  which  you  say  some 
old    college    friends    of    yours    had    partaken    on    the 


4  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

night  previous,  was,  I  must  say,  not  pleasant  in  the 
chambers,  and  I  even  thought  might  be  remarked  as 
hngering  in  your  own  morning-coat.  However,  I  am  an 
old  fellow.  The  use  of  cigars  has  come  in  since  my  time 
(and,  I  must  own,  is  adopted  by  many  people  of  the 
first  fashion),  and  these  and  other  inconveniences  are 
surmounted  more  gaily  by  young  fellows  like  yourself 
than  by  oldsters  of  my  standing.  It  pleased  me,  how- 
ever, to  see  the  picture  of  the  old  house  at  home  over 
the  mantel-piece.  Your  college  prize-books  make  a  very 
good  show  in  your  book-cases ;  and  I  was  glad  to  remark 
in  the  looking-glass  the  cards  of  both  our  excellent 
county  Members.  The  rooms,  altogether,  have  a  rep- 
utable appearance;  and  I  hope,  my  dear  fellow,  that 
the  Society  of  the  Inner  Temple  will  have  a  punctual 
tenant. 

As  you  have  now  completed  your  academical  studies, 
and  are  about  to  commence  your  career  in  London,  I 
propose,  my  dear  Nephew,  to  give  you  a  few  hints  for 
your  guidance;  which,  although  you  have  an  undoubted 
genius  of  your  own,  yet  come  from  a  person  who  has 
had  considerable  personal  experience,  and,  I  have  no 
doubt,  would  be  useful  to  you  if  you  did  not  disregard 
them,  as,  indeed,  you  will  most  probably  do. 

With  your  law  studies  it  is  not  my  duty  to  meddle. 
I  have  seen  you  estabhshed,  one  of  six  pupils,  in  Mr. 
Tapeworm's  chambers  in  Pump  Court,  seated  on  a  high- 
legged  stool  on  a  foggy  day,  with  your  back  to  a  blaz- 
ing fire.  At  your  father's  desire,  I  have  paid  a  hundred 
guineas  to  that  eminent  special  pleader,  for  the  advan- 
tages which  I  have  no  doubt  j^ou  will  enjoy,  while  seated 
on  the  high-legged  stool  in  his  back  room,  and  rest 
contented  with  your  mother's  prediction  that  you  will 


MR.  BROWN'S  LETTERS  5 

be  Lord  Chief  Justice  some  day.  May  you  prosper,  my 
dear  fellow  I  is  all  I  desire.  By  the  way,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  was  the  meaning  of  a  pot  of  porter  which 
entered  into  your  chambers  as  I  issued  from  them  at 
one  o'clock,  and  trust  that  it  was  not  your  thirst  which 
was  to  be  quenched  with  such  a  beverage  at  such  an 
hour. 

It  is  not,  then,  with  regard  to  your  duties  as  a  law- 
student  that  I  have  a  desire  to  lecture  you,  but  in  re- 
spect of  your  pleasures,  amusements,  acquaintances,  and 
general  conduct  and  bearing  as  a  young  man  of  the 
world. 

I  will  rush  into  the  subject  at  once,  and  exemplify  my 
morality  in  your  own  person.  Why,  sir,  for  instance,  do 
you  wear  that  tuft  to  your  chin,  and  those  sham  tur- 
quoise buttons  to  your  waistcoat?  A  chin-tuft  is  a 
cheap  enjoyment  certainly,  and  the  twiddling  it  about, 
as  I  see  you  do  constantly,  so  as  to  show  your  lower 
teeth,  a  harmless  amusement  to  fill  up  your  vacuous 
hours.  And  as  for  waistcoat-buttons,  you  will  say,  "  Do 
not  all  the  young  men  wear  them,  and  what  can  I  do  but 
buy  artificial  turquoise,  as  I  cannot  afford  to  buy  real 
stones? " 

I  take  you  up  at  once  and  show  you  why  you  ought  to 
shave  off  your  tip  and  give  up  the  factitious  jewellery. 
My  dear  Bob,  in  spite  of  us  and  all  the  Republicans  in 
the  world,  there  are  ranks  and  degrees  in  life  and  so- 
ciety, and  distinctions  to  be  maintained  by  each  man  ac- 
cording to  his  rank  and  degree.  You  have  no  more 
right,  as  I  take  it,  to  sport  an  imperial  on  your  chin 
than  I  have  to  wear  a  shovel-hat  with  a  rosette.  I  hold 
a  tuft  to  a  man's  chin  to  be  the  centre  of  a  system,  so  to 
speak,  which  ought  all  to  correspond  and  be  harmonious 


6  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

— the  whole  tune  of  a  man's  life  ought  to  be  played  in 
that  key. 

Look,  for  instance,  at  Lord  Hugo  Fitzurse  seated  in 
the  private  box  at  the  Lj^ceum,  by  the  side  of  that  beau- 
tiful creature  with  the  black  eyes  and  the  magnificent 
point-lace,  who  you  fancied  was  ogling  you  through 
her  enormous  spy-glasses.  Lord  Hugo  has  a  tuft  to  his 
chin,  certainly,  his  countenance  grins  with  a  perfect 
vacuity  behind  it,  and  his  whiskers  curl  crisply  round 
one  of  the  handsomest  and  stupidest  countenances  in  the 
world. 

But  just  reckon  up  in  your  own  mind  what  it  costs 
him  to  keep  up  that  simple  ornament  on  his  chin.  Look 
at  every  article  of  that  amiable  and  most  gentleman-like 
— though,  I  own,  foolish — young  man's  dress,  and  see 
how  absurd  it  is  of  you  to  attempt  to  imitate  him. 
Look  at  his  hands  (I  have  the  young  nobleman  per- 
fectly before  my  mind's  eye  now)  ;  the  little  hands  are 
dangling  over  the  cushion  of  the  box  gloved  as  tightly 
and  delicately  as  a  lady's.  His  wristbands  are  fastened 
up  towards  his  elbows  with  jewellery.  Gems  and  rubies 
meander  down  his  pink  shirt-front  and  waistcoat.  He 
wears  a  watch  with  an  apparatus  of  gimcracks  at  his 
waistcoat-pocket.  He  sits  in  a  splendid  side-box,  or  he 
simpers  out  of  the  windows  at  "  White's,"  or  you  see  him 
grinning  out  of  a  cab  by  the  Serpentine — a  lovely  and 
costly  picture,  surrounded  by  a  costly  frame. 

Whereas  you  and  I,  my  good  Bob,  if  we  want  to  see 
a  play,  do  not  disdain  an  order  from  our  friend  the 
newspaper  Editor,  or  to  take  a  seat  in  the  pit.  Your 
watch  is  your  father's  old  hunting-watch.  When  we 
go  in  the  Park  we  go  on  foot,  or  at  best  get  a  horse  up 
after  Easter,  and  just  show  in  Rotten  Row.     We  shall 


MR.   BROWN'S   LETTERS  7 

never  look  out  of  "  White's  "  bow-window.  The  amount 
of  Lord  Hugo's  tailor's  bill  would  support  you  and 
your  younger  brother.  His  valet  has  as  good  an  allow- 
ance as  you,  besides  his  perquisites  of  old  clothes.  You 
cannot  afford  to  wear  a  dandy  lord's  cast-off  old  clothes, 
neither  to  imitate  those  which  he  wears. 

There  is  nothing  disagreeable  to  me  in  the  notion  of  a 
dandy  any  more  than  there  is  in  the  idea  of  a  peacock, 
or  a  camelopard,  or  a  prodigious  gaudy  tulip,  or  an 
astonishingly  bright  brocade.  There  are  all  sorts  of 
animals,  plants,  and  stuffs  in  Xature,  from  peacocks 
to  tom-tits,  and  from  cloth-of-gold  to  corduroy,  whereof 
the  variety  is  assuredly  intended  b}^  Nature,  and  cer- 
tainly adds  to  the  zest  of  life.  Therefore,  I  do  not  say 
that  Lord  Hugo  is  a  useless  being,  or  bestow  the  least 
contemi^t  ujion  him.  Nay,  it  is  right  gratifjdng  and 
natural  that  he  should  be,  and  be  as  he  is — handsome  and 
graceful,  splendid  and  perfumed,  beautiful— whiskered 
and  empty-headed,  a  sumptuous  dandy  and  man  of 
fashion — and  what  you  3'oung  men  have  denominated 
"  A  Swell." 

But  a  cheap  Swell,  my  dear  Robert  (and  that  little 
chin  ornament,  as  well  as  certain  other  indications  which 
I  have  remarked  in  your  simple  nature,  lead  me  to  insist 
upon  this  matter  rather  strongly  with  j' ou ) ,  is  by  no 
means  a  pleasing  object  for  our  observation,  although 
he  is  presented  to  us  so  frequently.  Try,  mj^  boy,  and 
curb  anj^  little  propensity  which  j^ou  may  have  to 
dresses  that  are  too  splendid  for  j^-our  station.  You  do 
not  want  light  kid-gloves  and  wristbands  up  to  your 
elbows,  copying  out  Mr.  Tapeworm's  Pleas  and  Decla- 
rations; vou  will  onlv  blot  them  with  lawyers'  ink  over 
your  desk,  and  they  will  impede  j^our  writing:  whereas 


8  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Lord  Hugo  may  decorate  his  hands  in  any  way  he  likes, 
because  he  has  httle  else  to  do  with  them  but  to  drive 
cabs,  or  applaud  dancing-girls'  pirouettes,  or  to  handle 
a  knife  and  fork  or  a  tooth-pick  as  becomes  the  position 
in  life  which  he  fills  in  so  distinguished  a  manner.  To 
be  sure,  since  the  days  of  friend  i^Esop,  Jackdaws  have 
been  held  up  to  ridicule  for  wearing  the  plumes  of 
birds  to  whom  Nature  has  affixed  more  gaudy  tails ;  but 
as  Folly  is  constantly  reproducing  itself,  so  must  Satire, 
and  our  honest  Mr.  Punch  has  but  to.  repeat  to  the  men 
of  our  generation  the  lessons  taught  by  the  good-na- 
tured Hunchback  his  predecessor. 

Shave  oiF  j^our  tuft,  then,  my  boy,  and  send  it  to  tlie 
girl  of  your  heart  as  a  token,  if  you  like:  and  I  pray 
you  abolish  the  jewellery,  towards  which  I  clearly  see 
you  have  a  propensity.  As  you  have  a  plain  dinner 
at  home,  served  comfortably  on  a  clean  tablecloth,  and 
not  a  grand  service  of  half-a-dozen  entrees,  such  as  we 
get  at  our  county  JVIember's  (and  an  uncommonly  good 
dinner  it  is  too),  so  let  your  dress  be  perfectly  neat, 
polite,  and  cleanly,  without  any  attempts  at  splendour. 
JNIagnificence  is  the  decency  of  the  rich— but  it  cannot 
be  purchased  with  half  a  guinea  a  day,  which,  when 
the  rent  of  your  chambers  is  paid,  I  take  to  be  pretty 
nearly  the  amount  of  your  worship's  income.  This 
point,  I  thought,  was  rather  well  illustrated  the  other 
day,  in  an  otherwise  silly  and  sentimental  book  which  I 
looked  over  at  the  Club,  called  the  "  Foggarty  Dia- 
mond "  (or  some  such  \ailgar  name).  Somebody  gives 
the  hero,  who  is  a  poor  fellow,  a  diamond  pin:  he  is 
obliged  to  buy  a  new  stock  to  set  off  the  diamond,  then 
a  new  waistcoat,  to  correspond  with  the  stock,  then  a 
new  coat,  because  the  old  one  is  too  shabby  for  the  rest 


MR.    BROWX'S    LETTERS  9 

of  his  attire;— finally,  the  poor  devil  is  ruined  by  the 
diamond  ornament,  which  he  is  forced  to  sell,  as  I 
would  recommend  you  to  sell  youT  waistcoat  studs,  were 
they  worth  anything. 

But  as  you  have  a  good  figure  and  a  gentleman-like 
deportment,  and  as  every  young  man  likes  to  be  well 
attired,  and  ought,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  advantage 
and  progress  in  hfe,  to  show  himself  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, I  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  addressing 
you  on  the  subject  of  tailors  and  clothes,  which  at  least 
merit  a  letter  to  themselves. 


ON  TAILORING-AND  TOILETTES  IN 

GENERAL 

UR  ancestors,  my  dear  Bob, 
have  transmitted  to  you  (as 
well  as  every  member  of 
our  family, )  considerable 
charms  of  person  and  fig- 
ure, of  which  fact,  although 
you  are  of  course  perfectly 
aware,  yet,  and  equally 
of  course,  you  have  no  ob- 
jection to  be  reminded;  and 
with  these  facial  and  cor- 
poreal endowments,  a  few 
words  respecting  dress  and 
tailoring  may  not  be  out  of 
place;  for  nothing  is  trivial 
in  life,  and  everything  to 
the  philosopher  has  a  mean- 
ing. As  in  the  old  joke  about  a  pudding  which  has  two 
sides,  namely  an  inside  and  an  outside,  so  a  coat  or  a  hat 
has  its  inside  as  well  as  its  outside;  I  mean,  that  there 
is  in  a  man's  exterior  appearance  the  consequence  of  his 
inward  ways  of  thought,  and  a  gentleman  who  dresses 
too  grandly,  or  too  absurdly,  or  too  shabbil}",  has  some 
oddity,  or  insanity,  or  meanness  in  his  mind,  which  de- 
velops itself  somehow  outwardly  in  the  fashion  of  his 
garments. 

10 


ON   TAILORING-AND   TOILETTES     11 

No  man  has  a  right  to  despise  his  dress  in  this  world. 
There  is  no  use  in  flinging  any  honest  chance  whatever 
away.  For  instance,  although  a  woman  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  know  the  particulars  of  a  gentleman's  dress, 
any  more  than  we  to  be  acquainted  with  the  precise 
nomenclature  or  proper  cut  of  the  various  articles  which 
those  dear  creatures  wear,  yet  to  what  lady  in  a  society 
of  strangers  do  we  feel  ourselves  most  naturally  inclined 
to  address  ourselves? — to  her  or  those  whose  appear- 
ance pleases  us ;  not  to  the  gaudy,  overdressed  Dowager 
or  Miss — nor  to  her  whose  clothes,  though  handsome, 
are  put  on  in  a  slatternly  manner,  but  to  the  person  who 
looks  neat,  and  trim,  and  elegant,  and  in  whose  person 
we  fancy  we  see  exhibited  indications  of  a  natural  taste, 
order,  and  propriety.  If  Miss  Smith  in  a  rumpled 
gown  offends  our  eyesight,  though  we  hear  she  is  a 
young  lady  of  great  genius  and  considerable  fortune, 
while  Miss  Jones  in  her  trim  and  simple  attire  attracts 
our  admiration;  so  must  women,  on  their  side,  be  at- 
tracted or  repelled  by  the  appearance  of  gentlemen  into 
whose  company  they  fall.  If  you  are  a  tiger  in  appear- 
ance, you  may  naturally  expect  to  frighten  a  delicate 
and  timid  female ;  if  you  are  a  sloven,  to  offend  her :  and 
as  to  be  well  with  women,  constitutes  one  of  the  chief- 
est  happinesses  of  life,  the  object  of  my  wortlty  Bob's 
special  attention  will  naturally  be,  to  neglect  no  pre- 
cautions to  win  their  favour. 

Yes:  a  good  face,  a  good  address,  a  good  dress,  are 
each  so  many  points  in  the  game  of  life,  of  which  every 
man  of  sense  will  avail  himself.  They  help  many  a  man 
more  in  his  commerce  with  society  than  learning  or  ge- 
nius. It  is  hard  often  to  bring  the  former  into  a  draw- 
ing-room ;  it  is  often  too  lumbering  and  unwieldy  for  any 


12  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

den  but  its  own.  And  as  a  King  Charles's  spaniel  can 
snooze  before  the  fire,  or  frisk  over  the  ottoman-cush- 
ions and  on  to  the  ladies'  laps,  when  a  Royal  elephant 
would  find  a  considerable  difficulty  in  walking  up  the 
stairs,  and  subsequently  in  finding  a  seat;  so  a  good 
manner  and  appearance  will  introduce  you  into  many  a 
house,  where  you  might  knock  in  vain  for  admission, 
with  all  the  learning  of  Person  in  your  trunk. 

It  is  not  learning,  it  is  not  virtue,  about  which  people 
inquire  in  society.  It  is  manners.  It  no  more  profits 
me  that  my  neighbour  at  table  can  construe  Sanscrit 
and  say  the  "  Encyclopaedia  "  by  heart,  than  that  he 
should  possess  half  a  million  in  the  Bank  (unless,  in- 
deed, he  gives  dinners;  when,  for  reasons  obvious,  one's 
estimation  of  him,  or  one's  desire  to  please  him,  takes 
its  rise  in  different  sources),  or  that  the  lady  whom  I 
hand  down  to  dinner  should  be  as  virtuous  as  Cornelia 
or  the  late  INIrs.  Hannah  JNIore.  What  is  wanted  for  the 
nonce,  is,  that  folks  should  be  as  agreeable  as  possible 
in  conversation  and  demeanour;  so  that  good  humour 
may  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  very  best  articles  of  dress 
one  can  wear  in  society;  the  which  to  see  exhibited  in 
Lady  X.'s  honest  face,  let  us  say,  is  more  pleasant  to 
behold  in  a  room  than  the  glitter  of  Lady  Z.'s  best  dia- 
monds. And  yet,  in  point  of  virtue,  the  latter  is,  no 
doubt,  a  perfect  dragon.  But  virtue  is  a  home  quality: 
manners  are  the  coat  it  wears  when  it  goes  abroad. 

Thus,  then,  mj'^  beloved  Bob,  I  would  have  your  din- 
ing-out  suit  handsome,  neat,  well-made,  fitting  you  nat- 
urally and  easily,  and  yet  with  a  certain  air  of  holiday 
about  it,  which  should  mark  its  destination.  It  is  not 
because  they  thought  their  appearance  was  much  im- 
proved by  the  ornament,  that  the  ancient  philosophers 


ON   TAILORING-AND   TOILETTES    13 

and  topers  decorated  their  old  pates  with  flowers  (no 
wreath,  I  know,  would  make  some  people's  mugs  beau- 
tiful; and  I  confess,  for  my  part,  I  would  as  lief  wear  a 
horse-collar  or  a  cotton  night-cap  in  society  as  a  coronet 
of  polyanthuses  or  a  garland  of  hyacinths)  :— it  is  not 
because  a  philosopher  cares  about  dress  that  he  wears  it; 
but  he  wears  his  best  as  a  sign  of  a  feast,  as  a  bush  is  the 
sign  of  an  inn.  You  ought  to  mark  a  festival  as  a  red- 
letter  day,  and  you  put  on  your  broad  and  spotless  white 
waistcoat,  your  finest  linen,  your  shiniest  boots,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  It  is  a  feast;  here  I  am,  clean,  smart,  ready 
with  a  good  appetite,  determined  to  enjoy." 

You  would  not  enjoy  a  feast  if  you  came  to  it  un- 
shorn, in  a  draggle-tailed  dressing-gown.  You  ought 
to  be  well  dressed,  and  suitable  to  it.  A  very  odd  and 
wise  man  whom  I  once  knew,  and  who  had  not  (as  far 
as  one  could  outwardly  judge)  the  least  vanity  about 
his  personal  appearance,  used,  I  remember,  to  make  a 
point  of  wearing  in  large  Assemblies  a  most  splendid 
gold  or  crimson  waistcoat.  He  seemed  to  consider  him- 
self in  the  light  of  a  walking  bouquet  of  flowers,  or  a 
movable  chandelier.  His  waistcoat  was  a  piece  of  furni- 
ture to  decorate  the  rooms:  as  for  any  personal  pride 
he  took  in  the  adornment,  he  had  none:  for  the  matter 
of  that,  he  would  have  taken  the  garment  off",  and  lent 
it  to  a  waiter— but  this  Philosopher's  maxim  was,  that 
dress  should  be  handsome  upon  handsome  occasions— 
and  I  hope  you  will  exhibit  your  own  taste  upon  such. 
You  don't  suppose  that  people  who  entertain  you  so 
hospitably  have  four-and-twenty  lights  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  still  and  dry  champagne  every  day?— or  that 
my  friend,  INIrs.  Perkins,  puts  her  drawing-room  door 
under  her  bed  every  night,  when  there  is  no  ball?    A 


14  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

young  fellow  must  dress  himself,  as  the  host  and  host- 
ess dress  themselves,  in  an  extra  manner  for  extra 
nights.  Enjoy,  my  bo}^  in  honesty  and  manliness,  the 
goods  of  this  life.  I  would  no  more  have  you  refuse 
to  take  your  glass  of  wine,  or  to  admire  (always  in 
honesty)  a  pretty  girl,  than  dislike  the  smell  of  a  rose, 
or  turn  away  your  eyes  from  a  landscape.  "  Neque  tu 
cJioreas  sperne,  jmer"  as  the  dear  old  Heathen  says: 
and,  in  order  to  dance,  you  must  have  proper  pumps 
willing  to  spring  and  whirl  lightly,  and  a  clean  pair  of 
gloves,  with  which  you  can  take  your  partner's  pretty 
Httle  hand. 

As  for  particularising  your  dress,  that  were  a  task 
quite  absurd  and  impertinent,  considering  that  you  are 
to  wear  it,  and  not  I,  and  remembering  the  variations 
of  fashion.  When  I  was  presented  to  H.  R.  H.  the 
Prince  Regent,  in  the  uniform  of  the  Hammersmith 
Hussars,  viz.  a  yellow  jacket,  pink  pantaloons,  and  sil- 
ver lace,  green  morocco  boots,  and  a  light  blue  pelisse 
lined  with  ermine,  the  august  Prince  himself,  the  model 
of  grace  and  elegance  in  his  time,  wore  a  coat  of  which 
the  waist-buttons  were  placed  between  his  royal  shoul- 
der-blades, and  which,  if  worn  by  a  man  now,  would 
cause  the  boys  to  hoot  him  in  Pall  Mall,  and  be  a  uni- 
form for  Bedlam.  If  buttons  continue  their  present 
downward  progress,  a  man's  waist  may  fall  down  to 
his  heels  next  year,  or  work  upwards  to  the  nape  of 
his  neck  after  another  revolution:  who  knows?  Be  it 
yours  decently  to  conform  to  the  custom,  and  leave  your 
buttons  in  the  hands  of  a  good  tailor,  who  will  place 
them  wherever  fashion  ordains.  A  few  general  rules, 
however,  may  be  gently  hinted  to  a  young  fellow  who 
has  perhaps  a  propensity  to  fall  into  certain  errors. 


ON   TAILORING-AND    TOILETTES     15 

Eschew  violent  sporting-dresses,  such  as  one  sees  but 
too  often  in  the  parks  and  public  places  on  the  backs 
of  misguided  young  men.  There  is  no  objection  to  an 
ostler  wearing  a  particular  costume,  but  it  is  a  pity  that 
a  gentleman  should  imitate  it.  I  have  seen  in  like  man- 
ner young  fellows  at  Cowes  attired  like  the  pictures  we 
have  of  smugglers,  buccaneers,  and  mariners  in  Adel- 
phi  melodramas.  I  would  like  my  Bob  to  remember, 
that  his  business  in  life  is  neither  to  handle  a  currj'^comb 
nor  a  marlin-spike,  and  to  fashion  his  habit  accordingly. 

If  your  hair  or  clothes  do  not  smell  of  tobacco,  as  they 
sometimes,  it  must  be  confessed,  do,  you  will  not  be  less 
popular  among  ladies.  And  as  no  man  is  worth  a  fig, 
or  can  have  real  benevolence  of  character,  or  observe 
mankind  properly,  who  does  not  like  the  society  of 
modest  and  well-bred  women,  respect  their  prejudices 
in  this  matter,  and  if  you  must  smoke,  smoke  in  an  old 
coat,  and  away  from  the  ladies. 

Avoid  dressing-gowns ;  which  argue  dawdling,  an  un- 
shorn chin,  a  lax  toilet,  and  a  general  lazy  and  indolent 
habit  at  home.  Begin  your  day  with  a  clean  conscience 
in  every  way.  Cleanliness  is  honesty.^  A  man  who 
shows  but  a  clean  face  and  hands  is  a  rogue  and  hypo- 
crite in  society,  and  takes  credit  for  a  virtue  which  he 
does  not  possess.  And  of  all  the  advances  towards  civ- 
ilization which  our  nation  has  made,  and  of  most  of 
which  Mr.  ISIacaulay  treats  so  eloquently  in  his  lately 
published  History,  as  in  his  lecture  to  the  Glasgow  Stu- 
dents the  other  day,  there  is  none  which  ought  to  give  a 
philanthropist  more  pleasure  than  to  remark  the  great 

1  Note  to  the  beloved  Reader. — This  hint,  dear  Sir,  is  of  course  not  intended 
to  apply  personally  to  you,  who  are  scrupulously  neat  in  your  person;  but  when 
you  look  around  you  and  see  how  many  people  neglect  the  use  of  that  admir- 
able cosmetic,  cold  water,  you  will  see  that  a  few  words  in  its  praise  may  be 
spoken  with  advantage. 


16  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  increasing  demand  for  bath-tubs  at  the  ironmon- 
gers': Zinc-Institutions,  of  which  our  ancestors  had  a 
lamentable  ignorance. 

And  I  hope  that  these  institutions  will  be  universal 
in  our  country  before  long,  and  that  every  decent  man  in 
England  will  be  a  Companion  of  the  Most  Honourable 
Order  of  the  Bath. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  LOVELY  WOMAN 

UPON   SOCIETY 


ONSTANTLY,       my 

dear  Bob,  I  have  told 
you  how  refining  is  the 
influence  of  women 
upon  societj%  and  how 
profound  our  respect 
ought  to  be  for  them. 
Living  in  chambers 
as  you  do,  my  dear 
Nephew,  and  not  of 
course  liable  to  be 
amused  by  the  con- 
stant society  of  an  old 
uncle,  who  moreover 
might  be  deucedly 
bored  with  your  own  conversation — I  beseech  and  im- 
plore you  to  make  a  point  of  being  intimate  with 
one  or  two  families  where  you  can  see  kind  and  well- 
bred  English  ladies.  I  have  seen  women  of  all  nations 
in  the  world,  but  I  never  saw  the  equals  of  English 
women  (meaning  of  course  to  include  our  cousins  the 
MacWhirters  of  Glasgow,  and  the  O'Tooles  of  Cork)  : 
and  I  pray  sincerely,  my  boy,  that  you  may  always  have 
a  woman  for  a  friend. 

Try,  then,  and  make  yourself  the  hienvenu  in  some 
house  where  accomplished  and  amiable  ladies  are.    Pass 

17 


18  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

as  much  of  your  time  as  you  can  with  them.  Lose  no 
opportunity  of  making  yourself  agreeable  to  them:  run 
their  errands;  send  them  flowers  and  elegant  little  to- 
kens; show  a  willingness  to  be  pleased  by  their  atten- 
tions, and  to  aid  their  little  charming  schemes  of  shop- 
ping or  dancing,  or  this,  or  that.  I  say  to  you,  make 
yourself  a  lady's  man  as  much  as  ever  you  can. 

It  is  better  for  you  to  pass  an  evening  once  or  twice 
a  week  in  a  lady's  drawing-room,  even  though  the  con- 
versation is  rather  slow  and  you  know  the  girls'  songs 
by  heart,  than  in  a  club,  tavern,  or  smoking-room,  or  a 
pit  of  a  theatre.  All  amusements  of  youth,  to  which 
virtuous  women  are  not  admitted,  are,  rely  on  it,  delete- 
rious in  their  nature.  All  men  who  avoid  female  soci- 
ety, have  dull  perceptions  and  are  stupid,  or  have  gross 
tastes  and  revolt  against  what  is  pure.  Your  Clubswag- 
gerers  who  are  sucking  the  butts  of  billiard-cues  all 
night  call  female  society  insipid.  Sir,  poetry  is  insipid 
to  a  yokel;  beauty  has  no  charms  for  a  bhnd  man:  mu- 
sic does  not  please  an  unfortunate  brute  who  does  not 
know  one  tune  from  another — and,  as  a  true  epicure  is 
hardly  ever  tired  of  water-souchy  and  brown  bread  and 
butter,  I  protest  I  can  sit  for  a  whole  night  talking  to  a 
well-regulated  kindly  woman  about  her  girl  coming  out, 
or  her  boy  at  Eton,  and  like  the  evening's  entertainment. 

One  of  the  great  benefits  a  young  man  may  derive 
from  women's  society  is,  that  he  is  bound  to  be  respect- 
ful to  them.  The  habit  is  of  great  good  to  your  moral 
man,  depend  on  it.  Our  education  makes  of  us  the  most 
eminently  selfish  men  in  the  world.  We  fight  for  our- 
selves, we  push  for  ourselves;  we  cut  the  best  slices  out 
of  the  joint  at  club-dinners  for  ourselves;  we  yawn  for 
ourselves  and  light  our  pipes,  and  say  we  won't  go  out: 


INFLUENCE   OF  LOVELY  WOMAN    19 

we  prefer  ourselves  and  our  ease — and  the  greatest  good 
that  comes  to  a  man  from  woman's  society  is,  that  he  has 
to  think  of  somebody  besides  himself — somebody  to 
whom  he  is  bound  to  be  constantly  attentive  and  respect- 
ful. Certainly  I  don't  want  my  dear  Bob  to  associate 
with  those  of  the  other  sex  whom  he  doesn't  and  can't 
respect:  that  is  worse  than  billiards:  worse  than  tavern 
brandy-and-water :  worse  than  smoking  selfishness  at 
home.  But  I  vow  I  would  rather  see  you  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  Miss  Fiddlecombe's  music-book  all  night, 
than  at  billiards,  or  smoking,  or  brand5^-and-water,  or 
all  three. 

Remember,  if  a  house  is  pleasant,  and  you  like  to  re- 
main in  it,  that  to  be  well  with  the  women  of  the  house 
is  the  great,  the  vital  point.  If  it  is  a  good  house,  don't 
turn  up  your  nose  because  you  are  only  asked  to  come 
in  the  evening  while  others  are  invited  to  dine.  Recol- 
lect the  debts  of  dinners  which  a  hospitable  family  has 
to  pay;  who  are  you  that  you  should  always  be  expect- 
ing to  nestle  under  the  mahogany  ?  Agreeable  acquain- 
tances are  made  just  as  well  in  the  drawing-room  as  in 
the  dining-room.  Go  to  tea  brisk  and  good-humoured. 
Be  determined  to  be  pleased.  Talk  to  a  dowager.  Take 
a  hand  at  whist.  If  you  are  musical,  and  know  a  song, 
sing  it  like  a  man.  Never  sulk  about  dancing,  but  off 
with  you.  You  will  find  your  acquaintance  enlarge. 
Mothers,  pleased  with  your  good  humour,  will  probably 
ask  you  to  Pocklington  Square,  to  a  little  party.  You 
will  get  on— you  will  form  yourself  a  circle.  You  may 
marry  a  rich  girl,  or,  at  any  rate,  get  the  chance  of  see- 
ing a  number  of  the  kind  and  the  pretty. 

Many  young  men,  who  are  more  remarkable  for  their 
impudence  and  selfishness  than  their  good  sense,  are 


20  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

fond  of  boastfully  announcing  that  they  decline  going  to 
evening-parties  at  all,  unless,  indeed,  such  entertain- 
ments commence  with  a  good  dinner,  and  a  quantity  of 
claret. 

I  never  saw  my  beautiful-minded  friend,  Mrs.  Y.  Z., 
many  times  out  of  temper,  but  can  quite  pardon  her 
indignation  when  young  Fred  Noodle,  to  whom  the 
Y.  Z.'s  have  been  very  kind,  and  who  has  appeared  scores 
of  times  at  their  elegant  table  in  Up — r  B-k-r  Street, 
announced,  in  an  unlucky  moment  of  flippancy,  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  go  to  evening-parties  any  more. 

What  induced  Fred  Noodle  to  utter  this  bravado  I 
know  not;  whether  it  was  that  he  has  been  puffed  up 
by  attentions  from  several  Aldermen's  families,  with 
whom  he  has  of  late  become  acquainted,  and  among 
whom  he  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  prodigious  "  iswell;  *' 
but  having  made  this  speech  one  Sunday  after  Church, 
when  he  condescended  to  call  in  B-k-r  Street,  and  show 
off  his  new  gloves  and  waistcoat,  and  talked  in  a  suffi- 
ciently dandified  air  about  the  opera  (the  wretched 
creature  fancies  that  an  eight-and-sixpenny  pit  ticket 
gives  him  the  privileges  of  a  man  of  fashion)  — Noodle 
made  his  bow  to  the  ladies,  and  strutted  off  to  show  his 
new  yellow  kids  elsewhere. 

"  Matilda  my  love,  bring  the  Address  Book,"  Mrs. 
Y.  Z.  said  to  her  lovel}^  eldest  daughter  as  soon  as 
Noodle  was  gone,  and  the  banging  hall-door  had  closed 
upon  the  absurd  j^outh.  Tliat  graceful  and  obedient 
girl  rose,  went  to  the  back  drawing-room,  on  a  table  in 
which  apartment  the  volume  lay,  and  brought  the  book 
to  her  mamma. 

Mrs.  Y.  Z.  turned  to  the  letter  N;  and  under  that 
initial  discovered  the  name  of  the  young  fellow  who  had 


INFLUENCE   OF   LOVELY   WOMAN    21 

just  gone  out.  Noodle,  F.,  250,  Jermyn  Street,  St. 
James's.  She  took  a  pen  from  the  table  before  her,  and 
with  it  deliberately  crossed  the  name  of  Mr.  Noodle  out 
of  her  book.  Matilda  looked  at  Eliza,  who  stood  by  in 
silent  awe.  The  sweet  eldest  girl,  who  has  a  kind  feel- 
ing towards  every  soul  alive,  then  looked  towards 
her  mother  with  expostulating  eyes,  and  said,  "  Oh, 
mamma!"  Dear,  dear  Eliza!  I  love  all  pitiful  hearts 
like  thine. 

But  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  was  in  no  mood  to  be  merciful,  and 
gave  way  to  a  natural  indignation  and  feeling  of  out- 
raged justice. 

"  What  business  has  that  young  man  to  tell  me,"  she 
exclaimed,  "  that  he  declines  going  to  evening-parties, 
when  he  knows  that  after  Easter  we  have  one  or  two? 
Has  he  not  met  with  constant  hospitality  here  since  Mr. 
Y.  Z.  brought  him  home  from  the  Club?  Has  he  such 
beaux  yeux?  or,  has  he  so  much  wit?  or,  is  he  a  man  of 
so  much  note,  that  his  company  at  a  dinner-table  be- 
comes indispensable?  He  is  nobody;  he  is  not  hand- 
some; he  is  not  clever;  he  never  opens  his  mouth  except 
to  drink  your  papa's  claret;  and  he  declines  evening- 
parties  forsooth! — Mind,  children,  he  is  never  invited 
into  this  house  again." 

When  Y.  Z.  now  meets  young  Noodle  at  the  Club, 
that  kind,  but  feeble-minded  old  gentleman  covers  up 
his  face  with  the  newspaper,  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by 
Noodle;  or  sidles  away  with  his  face  to  the  book-cases, 
and  lurks  off  by  the  door.  The  other  day,  thej^  met  on 
the  steps,  when  the  wretched  Noodle,  driven  aux  ahois, 
actually  had  the  meanness  to  ask  how  INIrs.  Y.  Z.  was? 
The  Colonel  (for  such  he  is,  and  of  the  Bombay  service, 
too)  said,— "  My  wife?    Oh!— hum!~I'm  sorry  to  say 


22  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Mrs.  Y.  Z.  has  been  very  poorly  indeed,  lately,  very 
poorly;  and  confined  to  her  room.  God  bless  my  soul! 
I've  an  appointment  at  the  India  House,  and  it's  past 
two  o'clock  " — and  he  fled. 

I  had  the  malicious  satisfaction  of  describing  to 
Noodle  the  most  sumptuous  dinner  which  Y.  Z.  had 
given  the  day  before,  at  which  there  was  a  Lord  present, 
a  Foreign  Minister  with  his  Orders,  two  Generals  with 
Stars,  and  every  luxury  of  the  season;  but  at  the  end 
of  our  conversation,  seeing  the  effect  it  had  upon  the 
poor  youth,  and  how  miserably  he  w^as  cast  down,  I  told 
him  the  truth,  viz.,  that  the  above  story  was  a  hoax,  and 
that  if  he  wanted  to  get  into  Mrs.  Y.  Z.'s  good  graces 
again,  his  best  plan  was  to  go  to  Lady  Flack's  party, 
where  I  knew  the  Miss  Y.  Z.'s  would  be,  and  dance  with 
them  all  night. 

Yes,  my  dear  Bob,  you  boys  must  pay  with  your 
persons,  however  lazy  you  may  be — however  much  in- 
clined to  smoke  at  the  Club,  or  to  lie  there  and  read  the 
last  delicious  new  novel;  or  averse  to  going  home  to  a 
dreadful  black  set  of  chambers,  where  there  is  no  fire; 
and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  creeping  shuddering  into  your 
ball  suit,  in  order  to  go  forth  to  an  evening-party. 

The  dressing,  the  clean  gloves,  and  cab-hire  are  nui- 
sances, I  grant  you.  The  idea  of  a  party  itself  is  a  bore, 
but  you  must  go.  When  you  are  at  the  party,  it  is  not 
so  stupid;  there  is  always  something  pleasant  for  the 
eye  and  attention  of  an  observant  man.  There  is  a 
bustling  Dowager  wheedling  and  manoeuvring  to  get 
proper  partners  for  her  girls;  there  is  a  pretty  girl  en- 
joying herself  with  all  her  heart,  and  in  all  the  pride  of 
her  beauty,  than  which  I  know  no  more  charming  ob- 
ject;— there  is  poor  Miss  Meggot,  lonely  up  against 


INFLUENCE   OF   LOVELY   WOMAN    23 

the  wall,  whom  nobody  asks  to  dance,  and  with  whom 
it  is  your  bounden  duty  to  waltz.  There  is  always 
something  to  see  or  do,  when  you  are  there;  and  to 
evening-parties,  I  say,  you  must  go. 

Perhaps  I  speak  with  the  ease  of  an  old  fellow  who  is 
out  of  the  business,  and  beholds  you  from  afar  off.  My 
dear  boy,  they  don't  want  us  at  evening-parties.  A 
stout,  bald-headed  man  dancing,  is  a  melancholy  object 
to  himself  in  the  looking-glass  opposite,  and  there  are 
duties  and  pleasures  of  all  ages.  Once,  heaven  help  us, 
and  only  once,  upon  my  honour,  and  I  say  so  as  a  gentle- 
man, some  boys  seized  upon  me  and  carried  me  to  the 
Casino,  where,  forthwith,  they  found  acquaintances  and 
partners,  and  went  whirling  away  in  the  double-timed 
waltz  (it  is  an  abominable  dance  to  me — I  am  an  old 
fogy)  along  with  hundreds  more.  I  caught  sight  of  a 
face  in  the  crowd — the  most  blank,  melancholy,  and 
dreary  old  visage  it  was — my  own  face  in  the  glass — 
there  was  no  use  in  my  being  there.  Canities  adest  mo- 
rosa — no,  not  morosa — but,  in  fine,  I  had  no  business  in 
the  place,  and  so  came  away. 

I  saw  enough  of  that  Casino,  however,  to  show  to  me 
that — but  my  paper  is  full,  and  on  the  subject  of  women 
I  have  more  things  to  say,  which  might  fill  many  hun- 
dred more  pages. 


SOME  MORE  WORDS  ABOUT  THE  LADIES 


/^UFFER  me  to  continue,   my   dear  Bob, 
V        our  remarks  about  women,  and  their  in- 
)     fluence  over  j^ou  young  fellows — an  in- 
fluence so  vast,  for  good  or  for  evil. 

I  have,  as  you  pretty  well  know,  an 
immense  sum  of  money  in  the  Three  per 
Cents.,  the  possession  of  which  does  not, 
I  think,  decrease  your  respect  for  my 
character,  and  of  which,  at  my  demise, 
you  will  possibly  have  your  share.  But 
if  I  ever  hear  of  you  as  a  Casino  haunter,  as  a  fre- 
quenter of  Races  and  Greenwich  Fairs,  and  such  amuse- 
ments, in  questionable  company,  I  give  you  my  honour 
you  shall  benefit  by  no  legacy  of  mine,  and  I  will  divide 
the  portion  that  was,  and  is,  I  hope,  to  be  yours,  amongst 
your  sisters. 

Think,  sir,  of  what  they  are,  and  of  your  mother  at 
home,  spotless  and  pious,  loving  and  pure,  and  shape 
your  own  course  so  as  to  be  worthy  of  them.  Would 
you  do  anything  to  give  tliem  pain?  Would  j^ou  say 
anything  that  should  bring  a  blush  to  their  fair  cheeks, 
or  shock  their  gentle  natures?  At  the  Roj^al  Academy 
Exhibition  last  year,  when  that  great  stupid,  dandified 
donkey,  Captain  Grigg,  in  company  with  the  other  \ail- 
gar  oaf,  INIr.  Gowker,  ventured  to  stare,  in  rather  an 
insolent  manner,  at  your  pretty  little  sister  Fanny,  who 
had  come  blushing  from  Miss  Pinkerton's  Academy,  I 

24, 


MORE  WORDS  ABOUT  THE  LADIES    25 

saw  how  your  honest  face  flushed  up  with  indignation, 
as  you  caught  sight  of  the  hideous  grins  and  ogles 
of  those  two  ruffians  in  varnished  boots;  and  your  eyes 
flashed  out  at  them  glances  of  defiance  and  warning 
so  savage  and  terrible,  that  the  discomfited  wretches 
turned  wisely  upon  their  heels,  and  did  not  care  to  face 
such  a  resolute  young  champion  as  Bob  Brown.  What 
is  it  that  makes  all  j^our  blood  tingle,  and  fills  all  your 
heart  with  a  vague  and  fierce  desire  to  thrash  somebody, 
when  the  idea  of  the  possibility  of  an  insult  to  that  fair 
creature  enters  j^our  mind?  You  can't  bear  to  think 
that  injury  should  be  done  to  a  being  so  sacred,  so  inno- 
cent, and  so  defenceless.  You  would  do  battle  with  a 
Goliath  in  her  cause.  Your  sword  would  leap  from  its 
scabbard  (that  is,  if  you  gentlemen  from  Pump  Court 
wore  swords  and  scabbards  at  the  present  period  of 
time,)  to  avenge  or  defend  her. 

Respect  all  beauty,  all  innocence,  my  dear  Bob;  de- 
fend all  defencelessness  in  your  sister,  as  in  the  sisters  of 
other  men.  We  have  all  heard  the  story  of  the  Gentle- 
man of  the  last  century,  who,  when  a  crowd  of  young 
bucks  and  bloods  in  the  Crush-room  of  the  Opera  were 
laughing  and  elbowing  an  old  lady  there— an  old  lady, 
lonely,  ugly,  and  unprotected — went  up  to  her  respect- 
fully and  ofl*ered  her  his  arm,  took  her  down  to  his  own 
carriage  which  was  in  waiting,  and  walked  home  himself 
in  the  rain, — and  twenty  years  afterwards  had  ten  thou- 
sand a  j^ear  left  him  by  this  very  old  lady,  as  a  reward 
for  that  one  act  of  politeness.  We  have  all  heard  that 
story;  nor  do  I  think  it  is  probable  that  you  will  have 
ten  thousand  a  year  left  to  you  for  being  polite  to  a 
woman :  but  I  say,  be  polite,  at  any  rate.  Be  respectful 
to  every  woman.    A  manly  and  generous  heart  can  be 


26  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

no  otherwise;  as  a  man  would  be  gentle  with  a  child,  or 
take  off  his  hat  in  a  church. 

I  would  have  you  apply  this  principle  universally 
towards  women — from  the  finest  lady  of  your  acquain- 
tance down  to  the  laundress  who  sets  your  Chambers 
in  order.  It  may  safely  be  asserted  that  the  persons 
who  joke  with  servants  or  barmaids  at  lodgings  are  not 
men  of  a  high  intellectual  or  moral  capacity.  To  chuck 
a  still-room  maid  under  the  chin,  or  to  send  off  Molly 
the  cook  grinning,  are  not,  to  say  the  least  of  them, 
dignified  acts  in  any  gentleman.  The  butcher-boy  who 
brings  the  leg-of-mutton  to  Molly,  may  converse  with 
her  over  the  area-railings;  or  the  youthful  grocer  may 
exchange  a  few  jocular  remarks  with  Betty  at  the  door 
as  he  hands  in  to  her  the  tea  and  sugar;  but  not  you. 
We  must  live  according  to  our  degree.  I  hint  this  to 
you,  sir,  by  the  way,  and  because  the  other  night,  as 
I  was  standing  on  the  drawing-room  landing-place,  tak- 
ing leave  of  our  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fairfax,  after  a 
very  agreeable  dinner,  I  heard  a  giggling  in  the  hall, 
where  you  were  putting  on  your  coat,  and  where  that 
uncommonly  good-looking  parlour-maid  was  opening 
the  door.  And  here,  whilst  on  this  subject,  and  whilst 
Mrs.  Betty  is  helping  you  on  with  your  coat,  I  would 
say,  respecting  your  commerce  with  friends'  servants 
and  your  own,  be  thankful  to  them,  and  they  will  be 
grateful  to  you  in  return,  depend  upon  it.  Let  the 
young  fellow  who  lives  in  lodgings  respect  the  poor 
little  maid  who  does  the  wondrous  work  of  the  house, 
and  not  send  her  on  too  many  errands,  or  ply  his  bell 
needlessly:  if  you  visit  any  of  your  comrades  in  such 
circumstances,  be  you,  too,  respectful  and  kind  in  your 
tone  to  the  poor  little  Abigail.    If  you  frequent  houses, 


MORE  WORDS  ABOUT  THE  LADIES    27 

as  I  hope  j^ou  will,  where  are  many  good  fellows  and 
amiable  ladies  who  cannot  afford  to  have  their  doors 
opened  or  their  tables  attended  by  men,  pray  be  particu- 
larly courteous  (though  by  no  means  so  marked  in  your 
attentions  as  on  the  occasion  of  the  dinner  at  Mr.  Fair- 
fax's to  which  I  have  just  alluded)  to  the  women-ser- 
vants. Thank  them  w^hen  they  serve  you.  Give  them 
a  half-crown  now  and  then— nay,  as  often  as  j^our  means 
will  permit.  Those  small  gratuities  make  but  a  small 
sum  in  your  year's  expenses,  and  it  may  be  said  that 
the  practice  of  giving  them  never  impoverished  a  man 
yet:  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  give  a  deal  of  inno- 
cent happiness  to  a  very  worthy,  active,  kind  set  of 
folks. 

But  let  us  hasten  from  the  hall-door  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Fortune  has  cast  your  lot  in  life:  I  want 
to  explain  to  you  why  I  am  so  anxious  that  you  should 
devote  yourself  to  that  amiable  lady  who  sits  in  it.  Sir, 
I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you  that  there  are  no  women  in 
the  world  vulgar  and  ill-humoured,  rancorous  and  nar- 
row-minded, mean  schemers,  son-in-law  hunters,  slaves 
of  fashion,  hypocrites;  but  I  do  respect,  admire,  and 
almost  worship  good  women ;  and  I  think  there  is  a  verj^ 
fair  number  of  such  to  be  found  in  this  world,  and  I 
have  no  doubt,  in  every  educated  Englishman's  circle 
of  society,  whether  he  finds  that  circle  in  palaces  in  Bel- 
gravia  and  Mayfair,  in  snug  little  suburban  villas,  in 
ancient  comfortable  old  Bloomsbury,  or  in  back  par- 
lours behind  the  shop.  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet 
with  excellent  English  ladies  in  every  one  of  these  places 
—wives  graceful  and  affectionate,  matrons  tender  and 
good,  daughters  happy  and  pure-minded,  and  I  urge 
the  society  of  such  on  you,  because  I  defy  you  to  think 


28  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

evil  in  their  company.  Walk  into  the  drawing-room  of 
Lady  Z.,  that  great  lady:  look  at  her  charming  face, 
and  hear  her  voice.  You  know  that  she  can't  but  be 
good,  with  such  a  face  and  such  a  voice.  She  is  one  of 
those  fortunate  beings  on  whom  it  has  pleased  heaven 
to  bestow  all  sorts  of  its  most  precious  gifts  and  richest 
worldly  favours.  With  what  grace  she  receives  you; 
with  what  a  frank  kindness  and  natural  sweetness  and 
dignity!  Her  looks,  her  motions,  her  words,  her 
thoughts,  all  seem  to  be  beautiful  and  harmonious  quite. 
See  her  with  her  children,  what  woman  can  be  more  sim- 
ple and  loving?  After  you  have  talked  to  her  for  a 
while,  3^ou  very  likely  find  that  she  is  ten  times  as  well 
read  as  j^ou  are:  she  has  a  hundred  accomplishments 
which  she  is  not  in  the  least  anxious  to  show  off,  and 
makes  no  more  account  of  them  than  of  her  diamonds, 
or  of  the  splendour  round  about  her — to  all  of  which 
she  is  born,  and  has  a  happy,  admirable  claim  of  nature 
and  possession — admirable  and  happy  for  her  and  for 
us  too;  for  is  it  not  a  happiness  for  us  to  admire  her? 
Does  anybody  grudge  her  excellence  to  that  paragon? 
Sir,  we  may  be  thankful  to  be  admitted  to  contemplate 
such  consummate  goodness  and  beauty:  and  as  in  look- 
ing at  a  fine  landscape  or  a  fine  work  of  art,  every  gen- 
erous heart  must  be  dehghted  and  improved,  and  ought 
to  feel  grateful  afterwards,  so  one  may  feel  charmed 
and  thankful  for  having  the  opportunity  of  knowing 
an  almost  perfect  woman.  Madam,  if  the  gout  and  the 
custom  of  the  world  permitted,  I  would  kneel  down 
and  kiss  the  hem  of  your  ladyship's  robe.  To  see  your 
gracious  face  is  a  comfort — to  see  you  walk  to  your  car- 
riage is  a  holiday.  Drive  her  faithfully,  O  thou  silver- 
wigged  coachman!  drive  to  all  sorts  of  splendours  and 


MORE  WORDS  ABOUT  THE  LADIES    29 

honours  and  roj'-al  festivals.  And  for  us,  let  us  be  glad 
that  we  should  have  the  privilege  to  admire  her. 

Now,  transport  yourself  in  spirit,  my  good  Bob,  into 
another  drawing-room.  There  sits  an  old  ladj^  of  more 
than  fourscore  j^ears,  serene  and  kind,  and  as  beautiful 
in  her  age  now  as  in  her  youth,  when  History  toasted 
her.  What  has  she  not  seen,  and  what  is  she  not  ready 
to  tell?  All  the  fame  and  wit,  all  the  rank  and  beauty, 
of  more  than  half  a  century,  have  passed  through  those 
rooms  where  you  have  the  honoui'  of  making  j^our  best 
bow.  She  is  as  simple  now  as  if  she  had  never  had 
any  flattery  to  dazzle  her:  she  is  never  tired  of  being 
pleased  and  being  kind.  Can  that  have  been  anything 
but  a  good  life  which,  after  more  than  eighty  years 
of  it  are  spent,  is  so  calm?  Could  she  look  to  the  end 
of  it  so  cheerfully,  if  its  long  course  had  not  been  pure? 
Respect  her,  I  say,  for  being  so  happy,  now  that  she  is 
old.  We  do  not  know  what  goodness  and  charity,  what 
affections,  what  trials,  may  have  gone  to  make  that 
charming  sweetness  of  temper,  and  complete  that  per- 
fect manner.  But  if  we  do  not  admire  and  reverence 
such  an  old  age  as  that,  and  get  good  from  contem- 
plating it,  what  are  we  to  respect  and  admire? 

Or  shall  we  walk  through  the  shop  (while  X.  is  rec- 
ommending a  tall  copy  to  an  amateur,  or  folding  up  a 
twopennyworth  of  letter-paper,  and  bowing  to  a  poor 
customer  in  a  jacket  and  apron  with  just  as  much  re- 
spectful gravity  as  he  would  show  while  waiting  upon  a 
Duke,)  and  see  Mrs.  N.  playing  with  the  child  in  the 
back  parlour  until  N.  shall  come  in  to  tea?  They  drink 
tea  at  five  o'clock ;  and  are  actually  as  well  bred  as  those 
gentlefolks  who  dine  three  hours  later.  Or  will  you 
please  to  step  into  Mrs.  J.'s  lodgings,  who  is  waiting, 


30  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  at  work,  until  her  husband  comes  home  from 
Chambers?  She  blushes  and  puts  the  work  away  on 
hearing  the  knock,  but  when  she  sees  who  the  visitor  is, 
she  takes  it  with  a  smile  from  behind  the  sofa  cushion, 
and  behold  it  is  one  of  J.'s  waistcoats,  on  which  she  is 
sewing  buttons.  She  might  have  been  a  Countess  blaz- 
ing in  diamonds,  had  Fate  so  willed  it,  and  the  higher 
her  station  the  more  she  would  have  adorned  it.  But 
she  looks  as  charming  while  plying  her  needle  as  the 
great  lady  in  the  palace  whose  equal  she  is, — in  beauty, 
in  goodness,  in  high-bred  grace  and  simplicity:  at  least, 
I  can't  fancy  her  better,  or  any  Peeress  being  more  than 
her  peer. 

And  it  is  with  this  sort  of  people,  my  dear  Bob,  that 
I  recommend  you  to  consort,  if  you  can  be  so  lucky  as 
to  meet  with  their  society — nor  do  I  think  you  are  very 
likely  to  find  many  such  at  the  Casino;  or  in  the  danc- 
ing-booths of  Greenwich  Fair  on  this  present  Easter 
Monday. 


ON  FRIENDSHIP 


HOICE  of  friends,  my  dear 
Robert,  is  a  point  upon 
which  every  man  about 
town  should  be  in- 
structed, as  he  should  be 
careful.  And  as  exam- 
ple, they  say,  is  some- 
times better  than  precept, 
and  at  the  risk  even 
of  appearing  some- 
what ludicrous  in 
your  eyes,  I  will  nar- 
rate to  3^ou  an  ad- 
venture which  hap- 
pened to  myself, 
which  is  at  once  ridiculous  and  melancholy  (at  least  to 
me),  and  which  will  show  you  how  a  man,  not  impru- 
dent or  incautious  of  his  own  nature,  mav  be  made  to 
suffer  by  the  imprudent  selection  of  a  friend.  Attend 
then,  my  dear  Bob,  to  "  the  History  of  Rasselas,  Prince 
of  Abj^ssinia." 

Sir,  in  the  year  1810,  I  was  a  jolly  young  Bachelor, 
as  you  are  now  (indeed,  it  was  three  years  before  I 
married  your  poor  dear  Aunt)  ;  I  had  a  place  in  the 
Tape  and  Sealing- Wax  Office;  I  had  Chambers  in 
Pump  Court,  au  troisieme,  and  led  a  not  uncomfortable 

31 


32  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

life  there.  I  was  a  free  and  gay  young  fellow  in  those 
days,  (however  much,  sir,  you  may  doubt  the  assertion, 
and  think  that  I  am  changed,)  and  not  so  particular  in 
my  choice  of  friends  as  subsequent  experience  has  led 
me  to  be. 

There  lived  in  the  set  of  Chambers  opposite  to  mine, 
a  Suffolk  gentleman,  of  good  family,  whom  I  shall  call 
Mr.  Bludyer.  Our  boys  or  clerks  first  made  acquain- 
tance, and  did  each  other  mutual  kind  offices:  borrow- 
ing for  their  respective  masters'  benefit,  neither  of  whom 
was  too  richly  provided  with  the  world's  goods,  coals, 
blacking-brushes,  crockery-ware,  and  the  like;  and  our 
forks  and  spoons,  if  either  of  us  had  an  entertainment  in 
Chambers.  As  I  learned  presently  that  Mr.  Bludyer 
had  been  educated  at  Oxford,  and  heard  that  his  elder 
brother  was  a  gentleman  of  good  estate  and  reputation 
in  his  county,  I  could  have  no  objection  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  accepted  finall}"  his  invitation  to  meet 
a  large  game-pie  which  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
the  country,  and  I  recollect  I  lent  my  own  silver  tea- 
pot, which  figured  handsomely  on  the  occasion.  It  is 
the  same  one  which  I  presented  to  you,  M^hen  you  took 
possession  of  your  present  apartments. 

Mr.  Bludyer  was  a  sporting  man :  it  was  the  custom  in 
those  days  with  many  gentlemen  to  dress  as  much  like 
coachmen  as  possible:  in  top-boots,  huge  white  coats 
with  capes,  Belcher  neckerchiefs,  and  the  like  adorn- 
ments; and  at  the  tables  of  bachelors  of  the  very  first 
fashion,  you  would  meet  with  prize-fighters  and  jockeys, 
and  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  prize-ring,  the  cock-pit, 
and  the  odds.  I  remember  my  Lord  Tilbury  was  pres- 
ent at  this  breakfast,  (who  afterwards  lamentably  broke 
his  neck  in  a  steeple-chase,  by  which  the  noble  family 


ON  FRIENDSHIP  33 

became  extinct,)  and  for  some  time  I  confounded  his 
lordship  with  Dutch  Sam,  who  was  also  of  the  party, 
and,  indeed,  not  unlike  the  noble  Viscount  in  dress  and 
manner. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Bludyer  ripened  into  a 
sort  of  friendship.  He  was  perfectly  good-natured, 
and  not  ill  bred;  and  his  jovial  spirits  and  roaring  stories 
amused  a  man  who,  though  always  of  a  peaceful  turn, 
had  no  dislike  to  cheerful  companions.  We  used  to 
dine  together  at  coffee-houses,  for  Clubs  were  scarcely 
invented  in  those  days,  except  for  the  aristocracy;  and, 
in  fine,  were  very  intimate.  Bludyer,  a  brave  and  ath- 
letic man,  would  often  give  a  loose  to  his  spirits  of  an 
evening,  and  mill  a  Charley  or  two,  as  the  phrase  then 
was.  The  young  bloods  of  those  days  thought  it  was 
no  harm  to  spend  a  night  in  the  watch-house,  and  I  as- 
sure you  it  has  accommodated  a  deal  of  good  company. 
Autres  temps,  autres  moeurs.  In  our  own  days,  my 
good  Bob,  a  station-house  bench  is  not  the  bed  for  a 
gentleman. 

I  was  at  this  time  (and  deservedly  so,  for  I  had  been 
very  kind  to  her,  and  my  elder  brother,  your  father, 
neglected  her  considerably)  the  favourite  nephew  of 
j^our  grand-aunt,  my  aunt,  Mrs.  General  INIacWhirter, 
who  was  left  a  very  handsome  fortune  by  the  General, 
and  to  whom  I  do  not  scruple  to  confess  I  paid  every 
attention  to  which  her  age,  her  sex,  and  her  large  income 
entitled  her.  I  used  to  take  sweetmeats  to  her  poodle. 
I  went  and  drank  tea  with  her  night  after  night.  I  ac- 
companied her  Sunday  after  Sunday  to  hear  the  Rev. 
Rowland  Hill,  at  the  Rotunda  Chapel,  over  Black- 
friars  Bridge,  and  I  used  to  read  many  of  the  tracts 
with  which  she  liberally  supplied  me — in  fact,  do  every- 


34  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

thing  to  comfort  and  console  a  lady  of  peculiar  opin- 
ions and  habits  who  had  a  large  jointure.  Your  father 
used  to  say  I  was  a  sneak,  but  he  was  then  a  boisterous 
young  squire;  and,  perhaps,  we  were  not  particularly 
good  friends. 

Well,  sir,  my  dear  aunt,  Mrs.  General  MacWhirter, 
made  me  her  chief  confidant.  I  regulated  her  money 
matters  for  her,  and  acted  with  her  bankers  and  lawyers ; 
and  as  she  always  spoke  of  your  father  as  a  reprobate, 
I  had  every  reason  to  suppose  I  should  inherit  the  prop- 
erty, the  main  part  of  which  passed  to  another  branch 
of  the  Browns.  I  do  not  grudge  it,  Bob:  I  do  not 
grudge  it.  Your  family  is  large;  and  I  have  enough 
from  my  poor  dear  departed  wife. 

Now  it  so  happened,  that  in  June,  1811, — I  recollect 
the  Comet  was  blazing  furiously  at  the  time,  and  ]Mrs. 
MacWhirter  was  of  opinion  that  the  world  was  at  an 
end — Mr.  Bludyer,  who  was  having  his  chambers  in 
Pump  Court  painted,  asked  permission  to  occupy  mine, 
where  he  wished  to  give  a  lunch  to  some  people  whom 
he  was  desirous  to  entertain.  Thinking  no  harm,  of 
course  I  said  yes;  and  I  went  to  my  desk  at  the  Tape 
and  Sealing- Wax  Office  at  my  usual  hour,  giving  in- 
structions to  my  boy  to  make  Mr.  Bludyer's  friends 
comfortable. 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  on  that  accursed  Friday, 
Mrs.  MacWhirter,  who  had  never  been  up  my  stair- 
case before  in  her  life  (for  your  dear  grand-aunt  was 
large  in  person,  and  the  apoplexy  which  carried  her  off 
soon  after  menaced  her  always),  having  some  very  par- 
ticular business  with  her  solicitors  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane,  and  being  anxious  to  consult  me  about  a  mort- 
gage, actually  mounted  my  stairs,  and  opened  the  door 


ON  FRIENDSHIP  35 

on  which  she  saw  written  the  name  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Brown.  She  was  a  pecuhar  woman,  I  have  said,  at- 
tached to  glaring  colours  in  her  dress,  and  from  her  long 
residence  in  India,  seldom  without  a  set  of  costly  Birds 
of  Paradise  in  her  bonnet,  and  a  splendid  Cashmere 
shawl. 

Fancy  her  astonishment  then,  on  entering  my  apart- 
ments at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  be  assailed  in 
the  first  place  by  a  strong  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  which 
pervaded  the  passage,  and  by  a  wild  and  ferocious 
bull-dog  which  flew  at  her  on  entering  my  sitting-room. 

This  bull-dog,  sir,  doubtless  attracted  by  the  brilliant 
colours  of  her  costume,  seized  upon  her,  and  pinned  her 
down,  screaming  so  that  her  voice  drowned  that  of 
Bludyer  himself,  who  was  sitting  on  the  table  bellowing, 
"A  Soutliei'li)  Wind  and  a  Cloudy  Shy  proclaim  a 
Hunting  Morning" — or  some  such  ribald  trash:  and 
the  brutal  owner  of  the  dog,  (who  was  no  other  than 
the  famous  Mulatto  boxer,  Norroy,  called  the  "  Black 
Prince  "  in  the  odious  language  of  the  Fancy,  and  who 
was  inebriated  doubtless  at  the  moment,)  encouraged 
his  dog  in  the  assault  upon  this  defenceless  lady,  and 
laughed  at  the  agonies  which  she  endured. 

Mr.  Bludj^er,  the  black  man,  and  one  or  two  more, 
were  arranging  a  fight  on  Moulsey  Hurst,  when  my 
poor  aunt  made  her  appearance  among  these  vulgar 
wretches.  Although  it  was  but  three  o'clock,  they  had 
sent  to  a  neighbouring  tavern  for  gin-and-water,  and 
the  glasses  sparkled  on  the  board, — to  use  a  verse  from  a 
Bacchanalian  song  which  I  well  remember  Mr.  Bludyer 
used  to  yell  forth— when  I  myself  arrived  from  my 
office  at  my  usual  hour,  half -past  three.  The  black  fel- 
low and  young  Captain  Cavendish  of  the  Guards  were 


36  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  smokers;  and  it  appears  that  at  first  all  the  gentle- 
men screamed  with  laughter;  some  of  them  called  my 
aunt  an  "  old  girl;  "  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  nearly 
fainted  that  the  filthy  Mulatto  called  the  dog  off  from 
the  flounce  of  her  yellow  gown  of  which  he  had  hold. 

When  this  poor  victim  of  vulgarity  asked  with  a 
scream — Where  was  her  nephew?  new  roars  of  laughter 
broke  out  from  the  coarse  gin-drinkers.  "  It's  the  old 
woman  whom  he  goes  to  meeting  with,"  cried  out  Blud- 
yer.  "  Come  away,  boys!  "  And  he  led  his  brutalized 
crew  out  of  my  chambers  into  his  own,  where  they  fin- 
ished, no  doubt,  their  arrangements  about  the  fight. 

Sir,  when  I  came  home  at  my  usual  hour  of  half -past 
three,  I  found  Mrs.  MacWhirter  in  hysterics  upon  my 
sofa — the  pipes  were  lying  about — the  tin  dish-covers — 
the  cold  kidneys— the  tavern  cruet-stands,  and  wretched 
remnants  of  the  orgy  were  in  disorder  on  the  table- 
cloth, stained  with  beer.  Seeing  her  fainting,  I  wildly 
bade  my  boy  to  open  the  window,  and  seizing  a  glass 
of  water  which  was  on  the  table,  I  presented  it  to  her 
lips.— It  was  gin-and-water,  which  I  proffered  to  that 
poor  lady. 

She  started  up  with  a  scream,  which  terrified  me  as  I 
upset  the  glass:  and  with  empurpled  features,  and  a 
voice  quivering  and  choking  with  anger,  she  vowed  she 
would  never  forgive  me.  In  vain  I  pleaded  that  I  was 
ignorant  of  the  whole  of  these  disgraceful  transactions. 
I  went  down  on  my  knees  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  be 
pacified ;  I  called  my  boy,  and  bade  him  bear  witness  to 
my  innocence:  the  impudent  young  fiend  burst  out 
laughing  in  my  face,  and  I  kicked  him  downstairs  as 
soon  as  she  was  gone :  for  go  she  did  directly  to  her  car- 
riage, which  was  in  waiting  in  Middle  Temple  Lane, 


OiSr  FRIENDSHIP  37 

and  to  which  I  followed  her  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  amidst 
a  crowd  of  jeering  barristers'  boys  and  Temple  porters. 
But  she  pulled  up  the  window  in  my  face,  and  would  no 
more  come  back  to  me  than  Eurydice  would  to  Orpheus. 

If  I  grow  pathetic  over  this  story,  my  dear  Bob,  have 
I  not  reason?  Your  great-aunt  left  thirty  thousand 
pounds  to  your  family,  and  the  remainder  to  the  mis- 
sionaries, and  it  is  a  curious  proof  of  the  inconsistency 
of  women,  that  she,  a  serious  person,  said  on  her  death- 
bed that  she  would  have  left  her  money  to  me,  if  I  had 
called  out  ]Mr.  Bludyer,  who  insulted  her,  and  with 
whom  I  certainly  would  have  exchanged  shots,  had  I 
thought  that  JNIrs.  MacWhirter  would  have  encouraged 
any  such  murder. 

]\Iy  wishes,  dear  Bob,  are  moderate.  Your  aunt  left 
me  a  handsome  competency — and,  I  repeat,  I  do  not 
grudge  my  brother  George  the  money.  Nor  is  it  prob- 
able that  such  a  calamity  can  happen  again  to  any  one 
of  our  famil}^ — that  would  be  too  great  misfortune. 
But  I  tell  you  the  tale,  because  at  least  it  shows  you  how 
important  good  company  is,  and  that  a  young  man 
about  town  should  beware  of  his  friends  as  well  as  of  his 
enemies. 

The  other  day  I  saw  you  walking  by  the  Serpentine 
with  young  Lord  Foozle,  of  the  Windsor  Heavies,  who 
nodded  to  all  sorts  of  suspicious  broughams  on  the  ride, 
while  you  looked  about  (j^ou  know  you  did,  you  j^oung 
rascal)  for  acquaintances — as  much  as  to  say — "  See! 
here  am  I,  Bob  Brown,  of  Pump  Court,  walking  with  a 
lord." 

My  dear  Bob,  I  own  that  to  walk  with  a  lord,  and  to 
be  seen  with  him,  is  a  pleasant  thing.    Every  man  of  the 


38  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

middle  class  likes  to  know  persons  of  rank.  If  he  says 
he  don't — don't  believe  him.  And  I  would  certainly 
wish  that  you  should  associate  with  your  superiors  ra- 
ther than  your  inferiors.  There  is  no  more  dangerous 
or  stupefying  position  for  a  man  in  life  than  to  be  a 
cock  of  small  society.  It  prevents  his  ideas  from  grow- 
ing: it  renders  him  intolerably  conceited.  A  twopenny 
halfpenny  Casar,  a  Brummagem  dandy,  a  coterie  phi- 
losopher or  wit,  is  pretty  sure  to  be  an  ass;  and,  in  fine, 
I  set  it  down  as  a  maxim  that  it  is  good  for  a  man  to 
live  where  he  can  meet  his  betters,  intellectual  and 
social. 

But  if  you  fancy  that  getting  into  Lord  Foozle's  set 
will  do  you  good  or  advance  your  prospects  in  life,  my 
dear  Bob,  you  are  wofully  mistaken.  The  Windsor 
Heavies  are  a  most  gentleman-like,  well-made,  and  use- 
ful set  of  men.  The  conversation  of  such  of  them  as 
I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet,  has  not  certainly 
inspired  me  with  a  respect  for  their  intellectual  quali- 
ties, nor  is  their  life  commonly  of  that  kind  which  rigid 
ascetics  would  pronounce  blameless.  Some  of  the  young 
men  amongst  them  talk  to  the  broughams,  frequent 
the  private  boxes,  dance  at  the  Casinos;  few  read — 
many  talk  about  horseflesh  and  the  odds  after  dinner, 
or  relax  with  a  little  lansquenet  or  a  little  billiards  at 
Pratt's. 

My  boy,  it  is  not  with  the  eye  of  a  moralist  that  your 
venerable  old  uncle  examines  these  youths,  but  rather 
of  a  natural  philosopher,  who  inspects  them  as  he  would 
any  other  phenomenon,  or  queer  bird,  or  odd  fish,  or  fine 
flower.  These  fellows  are  like  the  flowers,  and  neither 
toil  nor  spin,  but  are  decked  out  in  magnificent  apparel : 
and  for  some  wise  and  useful  purpose,  no  doubt.    It  is 


ox   FRIENDSHIP  39 

good  that  there  should  be  honest,  handsome,  hard-hving, 
hard-riding,  stupid  j^oung  Windsor  Heavies — as  that 
there  should  be  polite  young  gentlemen  in  the  Temple, 
or  any  other  variety  of  our  genus. 

And  it  is  good  that  j^ou  should  go  from  time  to  time 
to  the  Heavies'  mess,  if  they  ask  you;  and  know  that 
worthy  set  of  gentlemen.  But  beware,  O  Bob,  how  you 
live  with  them.  Remember  that  j^our  lot  in  life  is  to  toil, 
and  spin  too — and  calculate  how  much  time  it  takes  a 
Heavy  or  a  man  of  that  condition  to  do  nothing.  Say, 
he  dines  at  eight  o'clock,  and  spends  seven  hours  after 
dinner  in  pleasure.  Well,  if  he  goes  to  bed  at  three  in 
the  morning — that  precious  j^outh  must  have  nine  hours' 
sleep,  which  bring  him  to  twelve  o'clock  next  day, 
when  he  will  ha,ve  sl  headache  probably,  so  that  he  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  dress,  rally,  have  devilled  chicken 
and  pale  ale,  and  get  out  before  three.  Friendship — 
the  Club  — the  visits  which  he  is  compelled  to  pay,  oc- 
cupy him  till  five  or  six,  and  what  time  is  there  left  for 
exercise  and  a  ride  in  the  Park,  and  for  a  second  toilette 
preparatory  to  dinner,  &c.? — He  goes  on  his  routine 
of  pleasure,  this  young  Heavy,  as  you  in  yours  of  duty 
— one  man  in  London  is  pretty  nearly  as  busj^  as  an- 
other. The  company  of  young  "  Swells,"  then,  if  you 
will  permit  me  the  word,  is  not  for  you.  You  must  con- 
sider that  you  should  not  spend  more  than  a  certain 
sum  for  your  dinner — they  need  not.  You  wear  a 
black  coat,  and  they  a  shining  cuirass  and  monstrous 
epaulets.  Yours  is  the  useful  part  in  life  and  theirs  the 
splendid — though  why  speak  further  on  this  subject? 
Since  the  days  of  the  Frog  and  the  Bull,  a  desire  to  cope 
with  Bulls  has  been  known  to  be  fatal  to  Frogs. 

And  to  know  young  noblemen,  and  brilliant  and  no- 


40  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

torious  town  bucks  and  leaders  of  fashion,  has  this  great 
disadvantage — that  if  you  talk  about  them  or  are  seen 
with  them  much,  you  oiFend  all  your  friends  of  middle 
life.  It  makes  men  angry  to  see  their  acquaintances 
better  off  than  they  themselves  are.  If  you  live  much 
with  great  people,  others  will  be  sure  to  say  that  you  are 
a  sneak.  I  have  known  Jack  JollifFe,  whose  fun  and 
spirits  made  him  adored  by  the  dandies  (for  they  are 
just  such  folks  as  you  and  I,  only  with  not  quite  such 
good  brains,  and  perhaps  better  manners — simple  folks 
who  want  to  be  amused)  — I  have  known  Jack  JollifFe,  I 
say,  offend  a  whole  roomful  of  men  by  telling  us  that  he 
had  been  dining  with  a  Duke.  We  hadn't  been  to  dine 
with  a  Duke.  We  were  not  courted  by  grandees — and 
we  disliked  the  man  who  was,  and  said  he  was  a  parasite, 
because  men  of  fashion  courted  him.  I  don't  know  any 
means  by  which  men  hurt  themselves  more  in  the  esti- 
mation  of  their  equals  than  this  of  talking  of  great 
folks.  A  man  may  mean  no  harm  by  it — he  speaks  of 
the  grandees  with  whom  he  lives,  as  you  and  I  do  of 
Jack  and  Tom  who  give  us  dinners.  But  his  old  ac- 
quaintances do  not  forgive  him  his  superiority,  and  set 
the  Tufthunted  down  as  the  Tufthunter. 

I  remember  laughing  at  the  jocular  complaint  made 
b}^  one  of  this  sort,  a  friend,  whom  I  shall  call  Main. 
After  Main  published  his  "  Travels  in  the  Libyan 
Desert "  four  years  ago,  he  became  a  literary  lion,  and 
roared  in  many  of  the  metropolitan  salons.  He  is  a 
good-natured  fellow,  never  in  the  least  puffed  up  by  his 
literary  success;  and  alwaj^s  said  that  it  would  not  last. 
His  greatest  leonine  quality,  however,  is  his  appetite; 
and  to  behold  him  engaged  on  a  Club  joint,  or  to  see 
him  make  away  with  pounds  of  turbot,  and  plate  after 
plate  of  entreeSj  roasts,  and  sweets,  is  indeed  a  remark- 


ON  FRIENDSHIP  41 

able  sight,  and  refreshing  to  those  who  like  to  watch 
animals  feeding.  But  since  Main  has  gone  out  of,  and 
other  authors  have  come  into,  fashion — the  poor  fel- 
low comically  grumbles.  "  That  year  of  lionization  has 
ruined  me.  The  people  who  used  to  ask  me  before, 
don't  ask  me  any  more.  They  are  afraid  to  invite  me 
to  Bloomsbury,  because  the}^  fancy  I  am  accustomed  to 
Mayfair,  and  Mayfair  has  long  since  taken  up  with 
a  new  roarer — so  that  I  am  quite  alone!"  And  thus 
he  dines  at  the  Club  almost  every  daj^  at  his  own  charges 
now,  and  attacks  the  joint.  I  do  not  envy  the  man  who 
comes  after  him  to  the  haunch  of  mutton. 

If  Fate,  then,  my  dear  Bob,  should  bring  you  in 
contact  with  a  lord  or  two,  eat  their  dinners,  enjoy  their 
company,  but  be  mum  about  them  when  you  go  away. 

And,  though  it  is  a  hard  and  cruel  thing  to  say,  I 
would  urge  you,  my  dear  Bob,  specialty  to  beware  of 
taking  pleasant  fellows  for  your  friends.  Choose  a 
good  disagreeable  friend,  if  you  be  wise — a  surly, 
steady,  economical,  rigid  fellow.  All  jolly  fellows,  all 
delights  of  Club  smoking-rooms  and  billiard-rooms,  all 
fellows  who  sing  a  capital  song,  and  the  like,  are  sure 
to  be  poor.  As  they  are  free  with  their  own  money,  so 
will  they  be  with  yours;  and  their  very  generosity  and 
goodness  of  disposition  will  prevent  them  from  having 
the  means  of  paying  you  back.  They  lend  their  money 
to  some  other  jolly  fellows.  They  accommodate  each 
other  by  putting  their  jolly  names  to  the  backs  of  jolly 
bills.  Gentlemen  in  Cursitor  Street  are  on  the  look-out 
for  them.  Their  tradesmen  ask  for  them,  and  find  them 
not.  All!  Bob,  it's  hard  times  with  a  gentleman,  when 
he  has  to  walk  round  a  street  for  fear  of  meeting  a  cred- 
itor there,  and  for  a  man  of  courage,  when  he  can't  look 
a  tailor  in  the  face. 


42  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Eschew  jolly  fellows  then,  my  boy,  as  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  costly  of  company;  and  apropos  of  bills — if 
I  ever  hear  of  your  putting  your  name  to  stamped  paper 
— I  will  disown  you,  and  cut  you  off  with  a  protested 
shilling. 

I  know  many  men  who  say  (whereby  I  have  my  pri- 
vate opinion  of  their  own  probity)  that  all  poor  peo- 
ple are  dishonest:  this  is  a  hard  word,  though  more  gen- 
erally true  than  some  folks  suppose — but  I  fear  that  all 
people  much  in  debt  are  not  honest.  A  man  who  has 
to  wheedle  a  tradesman  is  not  going  through  a  very 
honourable  business  in  life — a  man  with  a  bill  becom- 
ing due  to-morrow  morning,  and  putting  a  good  face  on 
it  in  the  Club,  is  perforce  a  hypocrite  whilst  he  is  talk- 
ing to  you — a  man  who  has  to  do  any  meanness  about 
money  I  fear  me  is  so  nearly  like  a  rogue,  that  it's  not 
much  use  calculating  where  the  difference  lies.  Let  us 
be  very  gentle  with  our  neighbours'  failings ;  and  forgive 
our  friends  their  debts,  as  we  hope  ourselves  to  be  for- 
given. But  the  best  thing  of  all  to  do  with  your  debts 
is  to  pay  them.  INIake  none;  and  don't  live  with  people 
who  do.  Why,  if  I  dine  with  a  man  who  is  notoriously 
living  beyond  his  means,  I  am  a  hypocrite  certainly  my- 
self, and  I  fear  a  bit  of  a  rogue  too.  I  try  to  make 
my  host  believe  that  I  believe  him  an  honest  fellow.  I 
look  his  sham  splendour  in  the  face  without  saying, 
"  You  are  an  impostor." — Alas,  Robert,  I  have  par- 
taken of  feasts  where  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  plate,  the 
viands,  the  wine,  the  servants,  and  butlers,  were  all 
sham,  like  Cinderella's  coach  and  footmen,  and  would 
turn  into  rats  and  mice,  and  an  old  shoe  or  a  cabbage- 
stalk,  as  soon  as  we  were  out  of  the  house  and  the  clock 
struck  twelve. 


MR.  BROWN  THE  ELDER  TAKES 

MR.  BROWN  THE  YOUNGER 

TO  A  CLUB 


RESUMING  that  my 
dear  Bobby  would 
scarcely  consider 
himself  to  be  an 
accomplished  man 
about  town,  until 
he  had  obtained  an 
entrance  into  a  re- 
'^l  spectable  Club,  I 
am  happy  to  in- 
form you  that  you 
are  this  day  elected 
a  INIember  of  the 
Polyanthus,"  hav- 
ing been  proposed 
by  my  friend,  Lord 
Viscount  Colchicum,  and  seconded  b}^  your  affectionate 
uncle.  I  have  settled  with  ^Mr.  Stiff,  the  worthy  Secre- 
tary, the  preliminary  pecuniary  arrangements  regard- 
ing the  entrance  fee  and  the  first  annual  subscription 
—the  ensuing  payments  I  shall  leave  to  my  worthy 
nephew. 

You  were  elected,  sir,  with  but  two  black  balls;  and 
every  other  man  who  was  put  up  for  ballot  had  four, 
with  the  exception  of  Tom  Harico,  who  had  more  black 

43 


U   SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

beans  than  white.  Do  not,  however,  be  puffed  up  by 
this  victory,  and  fancy  yourself  more  j)opular  than  other 
men.  Indeed  I  don't  mind  telhng  you  (but,  of  course, 
I  do  not  wish  to  go  any  further,)  that  Captain  Sly- 
boots and  I,  having  suspicions  of  the  Meeting,  popped 
a  couple  of  adverse  balls  into  the  other  candidates' 
boxes;  so  that,  at  least,  you  should,  in  case  of  mishap, 
not  be  unaccompanied  in  ill  fortune. 

Now,  then,  that  you  are  a  member  of  the  "  Polyan- 
thus," I  trust  you  will  comport  yourself  with  propriety 
in  the  place:  and  permit  me  to  offer  you  a  few  hints 
with  regard  to  your  bearing. 

We  are  not  so  stiff  at  the  "  Polyanthus  "  as  at  some 
clubs  I  could  name— and  a  good  deal  of  decent  inti- 
macy takes  place  amongst  us.— Do  not  therefore  enter 
the  Club,  as  I  have  seen  men  do  at  the  "  Chokers  "  (of 
which  I  am  also  a  member),  with  your  eyes  scowling 
under  your  hat  at  your  neighbour,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression of  countenance  which  seems  to  say,  "  Hang 
your  impudence,  sir!  How  dare  you  stare  at  me?'' 
Banish  that  absurd  dignity  and  swagger,  which  do  not 
at  all  become  your  youthful  countenance,  my  dear  Bob, 
and  let  us  walk  up  the  steps  and  into  the  place.  See, 
old  Noseworthy  is  in  the  bow-window  reading  the  paper 
—he  is  always  in  the  bow- window  reading  the  paper. 

We  pass  by  the  worthy  porter,  and  alert  pages— a 
fifteen-hundredth  part  of  each  of  whom  is  henceforth 
your  paid-for  property— and  you  see  he  takes  down  your 
name  as  INIr.  R.  Brown,  Junior,  and  will  know  you  and 
be  civil  to  you  until  death— Ha,  there  is  Jawkins,  as 
usual;  he  has  nailed  poor  Styles  up  against  a  pillar,  and 
is  telling  him  what  the  opinion  of  the  City  is  about 
George  Hudson,  Esq.,  and  when  Sir  Robert  will  take 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    45 

the  government.  How  d'you  do,  Jawkins?— Satisfac- 
tory news  from  India?  Gilbert  to  be  made  Baron  Gil- 
bert of  Goojerat?  Indeed,  I  don't  introduce  you  to 
Jawkins,  my  poor  Bob ;  he  will  do  that  for  himself,  and 
you  will  have  quite  enough  of  him  before  many  days 
are  over. 

Those  three  gentlemen  sitting  on  the  sofa  are  from 
our  beloved  sister  island ;  they  come  here  every  day,  and 
wait  for  the  Honourable  Member  for  Ballinafad,  who 
is  at  present  in  the  writing-room. 

I  have  remarked,  in  London,  however,  that  every 
Irish  gentleman  is  accompanied  by  other  Irish  gentle- 
men, who  wait  for  him  as  here,  or  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  These  are  waiting  until  the  Honourable  Mem- 
ber for  Ballinafad  can  get  them  three  places,  in  the 
Excise,  in  the  Customs,  and  a  little  thing  in  the  Post 
Office,  no  doubt.  One  of  them  sends  home  a  tremendous 
account  of  parties  and  poHtics  here,  which  appears  in 
the  Ballinafad  Banner.  He  knows  everj^thing.  He  has 
just  been  closeted  with  Peel,  and  can  vouch  for  it  that 
Clarendon  has  been  sent  for.  He  knows  who  wrote  the 
famous  pamphlet,  "  Ways  and  INIeans  for  Ireland,"— 
all  the  secrets  of  the  present  Cabinet,  the  designs  of  Sir 
James  Graham.  How  Lord  John  can  live  under  those 
articles  which  he  writes  in  the  Banner  is  a  miracle  to  me ! 
I  hope  he  will  get  that  little  thing  in  the  Post  Office 
soon. 

This  is  the  newspaper-room— enter  the  Porter  with 
the  evening  papers^ what  a  rush  the  men  make  for 
them!  Do  you  want  to  see  one?  Here  is  the  Standard 
—  nice  article  about  the  "  Starling  Club  " — very  pleas- 
ant, candid,  gentleman-like  notice — Club  composed  of 
clergymen^  atheists,  authors,  and  artists.     Their  chief 


46  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

conversation  is  blasphemy:  they  have  statues  of  Socrates 
and  Mahomet  on  the  centre-piece  of  the  dinner-table, 
take  every  opportunity  of  being  disrespectful  to  Moses, 
and  a  dignified  clergyman  always  proposes  the  Glori- 
ous, Pious,  and  Immortal  JNIemory  of  Confucius.  Grace 
is  said  backwards,  and  the  Catechism  treated  with  the 
most  irreverent  ribaldry  by  the  comic  authors  and  the 
general  company. — Are  these  men  to  be  allowed  to  meet, 
and  their  horrid  orgies  to  continue?  Have  you  had 
enough? — let  us  go  into  the  other  rooms. 

What  a  calm  and  pleasant  seclusion  the  library  pre- 
sents after  the  bawl  and  bustle  of  the  newspaper-room! 
There  is  never  anybody  here.  English  gentlemen  get  up 
such  a  prodigious  quantity  of  knowledge  in  their  early 
life,  that  they  leave  off  reading  soon  after  they  begin 
to  shave,  or  never  look  at  anything  but  a  newspaper. 
How  j^leasant  this  room  is,  — isn't  it?  with  its  sober  dra- 
peries, and  long  calm  lines  of  peaceful  volumes — no- 
thing to  interrupt  the  quiet — only  the  melodj^  of  Hor- 
ner's nose  as  he  lies  asleep  upon  one  of  the  sofas.  What 
is  he  reading?  Hah!  "  Pendennis,"  No.  VII. — hum, 
let  us  pass  on.  Have  you  read  "  David  Copperfield," 
by  the  way?  How  beautiful  it  is — how  charmingly 
fresh  and  simple!  In  those  admirable  touches  of  tender 
humour — and  I  should  call  humour.  Bob,  a  mixture  of 
love  and  wit — who  can  equal  this  great  genius?  There 
are  little  words  and  phrases  in  his  books  which  are  like 
personal  benefits  to  the  reader.  What  a  place  it  is  to 
hold  in  the  affections  of  men!  What  an  awful  respon- 
sibility hanging  over  a  writer!  What  man  holding  such 
a  place,  and  knowing  that  his  words  go  forth  to  vast 
congregations  of  mankind, — to  grown  folks — to  their 
children,  and  perhaps  to  their  children's  children, — but 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    47 

must  think  of  his  calhng  with  a  solemn  and  humble 
heart!  JNIay  love  and  truth  guide  such  a  man  always! 
It  is  an  awful  prayer;  may  heaven  further  its  fulfilment! 
And  then,  Bob,  let  the  Record  revile  him— See,  here's 
Horner  waking  up — How  do  j'^ou  do,  Horner? 

This  neighbouring  room,  which  is  almost  as  quiet  as 
the  library,  is  the  card-room,  you  see.  There  are  always 
three  or  four  devotees  assembled  in  it;  and  the  lamps 
are  scarcety  ever  out  in  this  Temple  of  Trumps. 

I  admire,  as  I  see  them,  my  dear  Bobby,  grave  and  si- 
lent at  these  little  green  tables,  not  moved  outwardly  by 
grief  or  pleasure  at  losing  or  winning,  but  calmly  pur- 
suing their  game  (as  that  pursuit  is  called,  which  is  in 
fact  the  most  elaborate  science  and  study)  at  noon-day, 
entirety  absorbed,  and  philosophically  indifferent  to  the 
bustle  and  turmoil  of  the  enormous  working  world 
without.  Disraeli  may  make  his  best  speech;  the  Hun- 
garians may  march  into  Vienna ;  the  Protectionists  come 
in;  Louis  Philippe  be  restored;  or  the  Thames  set  on 
fire;  and  Colonel  Pam  and  ]Mr.  Trumpington  will  never 
leave  their  table,  so  engaging  is  their  occupation  at  it. 
The  turning  up  of  an  ace  is  of  more  interest  to  them 
than  all  the  affairs  of  all  the  world  besides — and  so  they 
will  go  on  until  Death  summons  them,  and  their  last 
trump  is  played. 

It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  century  ago  almost  all 
gentlemen,  soldiers,  statesmen,  men  of  science,  and 
divines,  passed  hours  at  play  every  day;  as  our  grand- 
mothers did  likewise.  The  poor  old  kings  and  queens 
must  feel  the  desertion  now,  and  deplore  the  present 
small  number  of  their  worshippers,  as  compared  to  the 
myriads  of  faithful  subjects  who  served  them  in  past 
times. 


48  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

I  do  not  say  that  other  folks'  pursuits  are  much  more 
or  less  futile ;  but  fancy  a  life  such  as  that  of  the  Colonel 
— eight  or  nine  hours  of  sleep,  eight  of  trumps,  and  the 
rest  for  business,  reading,  exercise,  and  domestic  duty 
or  aiFection  (to  be  sure,  he's  most  likely  a  bachelor,  so 
that  the  latter  offices  do  not  occupy  him  much)  —fancy 
such  a  life,  and  at  its  conclusion  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
five,  the  worthy  gentleman  being  able  to  say,  I  have 
spent  twenty-five  years  of  my  existence  turning  up 
trumps. 

With  Trumpington  matters  are  different.  Whist  is 
a  profession  with  him,  just  as  much  as  Law  is  yours. 
He  makes  the  deepest  study  of  it — he  makes  every  sacri- 
fice to  his  pursuit:  he  may  be  fond  of  wine  and  com- 
pany, but  he  eschews  both,  to  keep  his  head  cool  and 
play  his  rubber.  He  is  a  man  of  good  parts,  and  was 
once  well  read,  as  you  see  by  his  conversation  when  he 
is  away  from  the  table,  but  he  gives  up  reading  for  play 
— and  knows  that  to  play  well  a  man  must  play  every 
day.  He  makes  three  or  four  hundred  a  year  by  his 
Whist,  and  well  he  may— with  his  brains,  and  half  his 
industry,  he  could  make  a  larger  income  at  any  other 
profession. 

In  a  game  with  these  two  gentlemen,  the  one  who  has 
been  actually  seated  at  that  card-table  for  a  term  as  long 
as  your  whole  life,  the  other  who  is  known  as  a  consum- 
mate practitioner,  do  you  think  it  is  likely  you  will  come 
off  a  winner?  The  state  of  your  fortune  is  your  look- 
out, not  theirs.  They  are  there  at  their  posts— like 
knights  ready  to  meet  all  comers.  If  you  choose  to  en- 
gage them,  sit  down.  They  will,  with  the  most  perfect 
probity,  calmness,  and  elegance  of  manner,  win  and 
win  of  you  until  they  have  won  every  shilling  of  a  for- 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    49 

tune,  when  the}'^  will  make  you  a  bow,  and  wish  you  good 
morning.  You  may  go  and  drown  yourself  afterwards 
— it  is  not  their  business.  Their  business  is  to  be  present 
in  that  room,  and  to  play  cards  with  you  or  anybody. 
When  you  are  done  with — Bon  jour.  ]My  dear  Colonel, 
let  me  introduce  you  to  a  new  member,  my  nephew, 
Mr.  Robert  Brown. 

The  other  two  men  at  the  table  are  the  Honourable 
G.  Windgall  and  Mr.  Chanter:  perhaps  you  have  not 
heard  that  the  one  made  rather  a  queer  settlement  at  the 
last  Derby;  and  the  other  has  just  issued  from  one  of 
her  Majesty's  establishments  in  St.  George's  Fields. 

Either  of  these  gentlemen  is  perfectly  affable,  good- 
natured,  and  easy  of  access — and  will  cut  you  for  half- 
crowns  if  you  like,  or  play  you  at  any  game  on  the 
cards.  They  descend  from  their  broughams  or  from 
horseback  at  the  Club  door  with  the  most  splendid  air, 
and  they  feast  upon  the  best  dishes  and  wines  in  the 
place. 

But  do  you  think  it  advisable  to  play  cards  with  them? 
Which  know  the  games  best— you  or  they?  Which  are 
most  likely — we  will  not  say  to  play  foul — but  to  take 
certain  little  advantages  in  the  game  which  their  con- 
summate experience  teaches  them — you  or  they?  Fi- 
nally, is  it  a  matter  of  perfect  certainty,  if  you  won, 
that  they  would  pay  you? 

Let  us  leave  these  gentlemen,  my  dear  Bob,  and  go 
through  the  rest  of  the  house. 

From  the  library  we  proceed  to  the  carved  and  gilded 
drawing-room  of  the  Club,  the  damask  hangings  of 
which  are  embroidered  with  our  lovelj^  emblem,  the 
Polyanthus,  and  which  is  fitted  with  a  perfectly  unintel- 


50  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

ligible  splendour.  Sardanapalus,  if  he  had  pawned  one 
of  his  kingdoms,  could  not  have  had  such  mirrors  as  one 
of  those  in  which  I  see  my  dear  Bob  admiring  the  tie  of 
his  cravat  with  such  complacency,  and  I  am  sure  I  can- 
not comprehend  why  Smith  and  Brown  should  have 
their  persons  reflected  in  such  vast  sheets  of  quicksilver; 
or  why,  if  we  have  a  mind  to  a  sixpenny  cup  of  tea  and 
muffins,  when  we  come  in  with  muddy  boots  from  a  dirty 
walk,  those  refreshments  should  be  served  to  us  as  we 
occupy  a  sofa  much  more  spleiidid,  and  far  better 
stuffed,  than  any  Louis  Quatorze  ever  sat  upon.  I  want 
a  sofa,  as  I  want  a  friend,  upon  which  I  can  repose 
familiarly.  If  you  can't  have  intimate  terms  and  free- 
dom with  one  and  the  other,  they  are  of  no  good.  A 
full-dress  Club  is  an  absurdity — and  no  man  ought  to 
come  into  this  room  except  in  a  uniform  or  court  suit. 
I  daren't  put  my  feet  on  yonder  sofa  for  fear  of  sullying 
the  damask,  or,  worse  still,  for  fear  that  Hicks  the  Com- 
mittee-man should  pass,  and  spj^  out  my  sacrilegious 
boots  on  the  cushion. 

We  pass  through  these  double-doors,  and  enter  rooms 
of  a  very  difl*erent  character. 

By  the  faint  and  sickly  odour  pervading  this  apart- 
ment, by  the  opened  windows,  by  the  circular  stains 
upon  the  marble  tables,  which  indicate  the  presence  of 
brandies-and-waters  long  passed  into  the  world  of 
spirits,  my  dear  Bob  will  have  no  difficulty  in  recogniz- 
ing the  smoking-room,  where  I  dare  say  he  will  pass  a 
good  deal  of  his  valuable  time  henceforth. 

If  I  could  recommend  a  sure  way  of  advancement 
and  profit  to  a  young  man  about  town,  it  would  be, 
after  he  has  come  away  from  a  friend's  house  and  din- 
ner, where  he  has  to  a  surety  had  more  than  enough  of 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    51 

claret  and  good  things,  when  he  ought  to  be  going  to 
bed  at  midnight,  so  that  he  might  rise  fresh  and  early 
for  his  morning's  work,  to  stop,  nevertheless,  for  a 
couple  of  hours  at  the  Club,  and  smoke  in  this  room  and 
tipple  weak  brandy-and-water. 

By  a  perseverance  in  this  system,  you  may  get  a  num- 
ber of  advantages.  By  sitting  up  till  three  of  a  summer 
morning,  you  have  the  advantage  of  seeing  the  sun  rise, 
and  as  you  walk  home  to  Pump  Court,  can  mark  the 
quiet  of  the  streets  in  the  rosy  glimmer  of  the  dawn. 
You  can  easily  spend  in  that  smoking-room,  (as  for  the 
billiard-room  adjacent,  how  much  more  can't  j^ou  get 
rid  of  there,)  and  without  any  inconvenience  or  extrava- 
gance whatever,  enough  money  to  keep  you  a  horse. 
Three  or  four  cigars  when  you  are  in  the  Club,  3^our  case 
filled  when  you  are  going  away,  a  couple  of  glasses  of 
very  weak  cognac  and  cold  water,  will  cost  you  sixty 
pounds  a  year,  as  sure  as  your  name  is  Bob  Brown. 
And  as  for  the  smoking  and  tippling,  plus  billiards,  they 
maj^  be  made  to  cost  anything. 

And  then  you  have  the  advantage  of  hearing  such 
delightful  and  instructive  conversation  in  a  Club  smok- 
ing-room, between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  three !  Men 
who  frequent  that  place  at  that  hour  are  commonly 
men  of  studious  habits  and  philosophical  and  reflective 
minds,  to  whose  opinions  it  is  pleasant  and  profitable  to 
listen.  They  are  full  of  anecdotes,  which  are  always 
moral  and  well  chosen;  their  talk  is  never  free,  or  on 
light  subjects.  I  have  one  or  two  old  smoking-room 
pillars  in  my  eye  now,  who  would  be  perfect  models  for 
any  young  gentleman  entering  life,  and  to  whom  a  fa- 
ther could  not  do  better  than  entrust  the  education  of 
his  son. 


52  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

To  drop  the  satirical  vein,  my  dear  Bob,  I  am  com- 
pelled as  a  man  to  say  my  opinion,  that  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  with  regard  to  that  smoking-room  is  to  keep 
out  of  it;  or  at  any  rate  never  to  be  seen  in  the  place 
after  midnight.  They  are  very  pleasant  and  frank, 
those  jolly  fellows,  those  loose  fishes,  those  fast  young 
men — but  the  race  in  life  is  not  to  such  fast  men  as 
these — and  you  who  want  to  win  must  get  up  early  of  a 
morning,  my  boy.  You  and  an  old  college-chum  or  two 
may  sit  together  over  your  cigar-boxes  in  one  another's 
chambers,  and  talk  till  all  hours,  and  do  j^ourselves  good 
probably.  Talking  among  you  is  a  wholesome  exercita- 
tion;  humour  comes  in  an  easy  flow;  it  doesn't  preclude 
grave  argument  and  manly  interchange  of  thought — I 
own  myself,  when  I  w^as  younger,  to  have  smoked  many 
a  pipe  with  advantage  in  the  company  of  Doctor  Parr. 
Honest  men,  with  pipes  or  cigars  in  their  mouths,  have 
great  physical  advantages  in  conversation.  You  may 
stop  talking  if  you  like — but  the  breaks  of  silence  never 
seem  disagreeable,  being  filled  up  by  the  puffing  of  the 
smoke — hence  there  is  no  awkwardness  in  resuming  the 
conversation — no  straining  for  eff*ect — sentiments  are 
delivered  in  a  grave  easy  manner — the  cigar  harmonizes 
the  society,  and  soothes  at  once  the  speaker  and  the  sub- 
ject whereon  he  converses.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
from  the  habit  of  smoking  that  Turks  and  American- 
Indians  are  such  monstrous  well-bred  men.  The  pipe 
draws  wisdom  from  the  lips  of  the  philosopher,  and 
shuts  up  the  mouth  of  the  foolish:  it  generates  a  style 
of  conversation,  contemplative,  thoughtful,  benevolent, 
and  unafl?*ected:  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  I  must  out  with  it 
—  I  am  an  old  smoker.  At  home  I  have  done  it  up  the 
chimney  rather  than  not  do  it   (the  which  I  own  is  a 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    53 

crime) .  I  vow  and  believe  that  the  cigar  has  been  one 
of  the  greatest  creature-comforts  of  my  hfe — a  kind 
companion,  a  gentle  stimulant,  an  amiable  anodj^ne,  a 
cementer  of  friendship.  May  I  die  if  I  abuse  that 
kindly  weed  which  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure! 

Since  I  have  been  a  member  of  that  Club,  what  num- 
bers of  men  have  occupied  this  room  and  departed  from 
it,  like  so  many  smoked-out  cigars,  leaving  nothing  be- 
hind but  a  little  disregarded  ashes!  Bob,  my  boy,  they 
drop  off  in  the  course  of  twenty  years,  our  boon  com- 
panions, and  jolly  fellow  bottle-crackers.  —  I  mind  me 
of  many  a  good  fellow  who  has  talked  and  laughed  here, 
and  whose  pipe  is  put  out  for  ever.  Men  I  remember 
as  dashing  youngsters  but  the  other  daj^  have  passed 
into  the  state  of  old  fogies :  they  have  sons,  sir,  of  almost 
our  age,  when  first  we  joined  the  "  Polyanthus."  Grass 
grows  over  others  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Where  is 
poor  Ned?  Where  is  poor  Fred?  Dead  rhymes  with 
Ned  and  Fred  too — their  place  knows  them  not — their 
names  one  year  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  Club  list, 
under  the  dismal  category  of  "  Members  Deceased,"  in 
which  you  and  I  shall  rank  some  day.  Do  you  keep  that 
subject  steadily  in  your  mind?  I  do  not  see  why  one 
shouldn't  meditate  upon  Death  in  Pall  Mall  as  well 
as  in  a  howling  wilderness.  There  is  enough  to  remind 
one  of  it  at  every  corner.  There  is  a  strange  face  look- 
ing out  of  Jack's  old  lodgings  in  Jermyn  Street, — some- 
body else  has  got  the  Club  chair  which  Tom  used  to  oc- 
cupy. He  doesn't  dine  here  and  grumble  as  he  used 
formerly.  He  has  been  sent  for,  and  has  not  come  back 
again — one  day  Fate  will  send  for  us,  and  we  shall  not 
return— and  the  people  will  come  down  to  the  Club  as 
usual,  saying,  "  Well,  and  so  poor  old  Brown  is  gone," 


54  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

— Indeed,  a  smoking-room  on  a  morning  is  not  a  cheer- 
ful spot. 

Our  room  has  a  series  of  tenants  of  quite  distinct 
characters.  After  an  early  and  sober  dinner  below,  cer- 
tain habitues  of  the  "  Polyanthus  "  mount  up  to  this 
apartment  for  their  coffee  and  cigar,  and  talk  as  gravely 
as  Sachems  at  a  Palaver.  Trade  and  travel,  politics  and 
geograplw,  are  their  discourse— they  are  in  bed  long 
before  their  successors  the  jolly  fellows  begin  their  night 
life,  and  the  talk  of  the  one  set  is  as  different  to  the  con- 
versation of  the  other,  as  anj^  talk  can  be. 

After  the  grave  old  Sachems,  come  other  frequenters 
of  the  room;  a  squad  of  sporting  men  very  hkely— verj^ 
solemn  and  silent  personages  these— who  give  the  odds, 
and  talk  about  the  Cup  in  a  darkling  under  tone.  Then 
3^ou  shall  have  three  or  four  barristers  with  high  voices, 
seldom  able  to  sit  long  without  talking  of  their  profes- 
sion, or  mentioning  something  about  Westminster  Hall. 
About  eleven,  men  in  white  neckcloths  drop  in  from 
dinner-parties,  and  show  their  lacquered  boots  and  shirt- 
studs  with  a  little  complacency— and  at  midnight,  after 
the  theatres,  the  young  rakes  and  viveurs  come  swag- 
gering in,  and  call  loudly  for  gin-twist. 

But  as  for  a  Club  smoking-room  after  midnight,  I 
vow  again  that  you  are  better  out  of  it:  that  you  will 
waste  money  and  your  precious  hours  and  health  there; 
and  you  may  frequent  this  "  Polyanthus  "  room  for  a 
year,  and  not  carry  away  from  the  place  one  single  idea 
or  storj^  that  can  do  you  the  least  good  in  life.  How 
much  you  shall  take  away  of  another  sort,  I  do  not  here 
set  down ;  but  I  have  before  my  mind's  eye  the  image  of 
old  Silenus,  with  purple  face  and  chalk-stone  fingers, 
telling  his  foul  old  garrison  legends  over  his  gin-and- 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    55 

water.  He  is  in  the  smoking-room  every  night;  and  I 
feel  that  no  one  can  get  benefit  from  the  society  of  that 
old  man. 

What  society  he  has  he  gets  from  this  place.  He  sits 
for  hours  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  makes  up  his  par- 
ties here.  He  will  ask  you  after  a  little  time,  seeing  that 
you  are  a  gentleman  and  have  a  good  address,  and  will 
give  you  an  exceedingly  good  dinner.  I  went  once, 
j^ears  ago,  to  a  banquet  of  his — and  found  all  the  men  at 
his  table  were  Polyanthuses :  so  that  it  was  a  house  din- 
ner in Square,  with  Mrs.  Silenus  at  the  head  of  the 

table. 

After  dinner  she  retired  and  was  no  more  seen,  and 
Silenus  amused  himself  bj^  making  poor  ]Mr.  Tippleton 
drunk.  He  came  to  the  Club  the  next  day,  he  amused 
himself  by  describing  the  arts  by  which  he  had  practised 
upon  the  easy  brains  of  poor  Mr.  Tippleton— (as  if 
that  poor  fellow  wanted  any  arts  or  persuasion  to  in- 
duce him  to  intoxicate  himself) ,  and  told  all  the  smok- 
ing-room how  he  had  given  a  dinner,  how  many  bottles 
of  wine  had  been  emptied,  and  how  many  Tippleton 
had  drunk  for  his  share.  "  I  kept  my  eye  on  Tip,  sir," 
the  horrid  old  fellow  said—"  I  took  care  to  make  him 
mix  his  liquors  well,  and  before  eleven  o'clock  I  finished 
him,  and  had  him  as  drunk  as  a  lord,  sir!  "  Will  you 
like  to  have  that  gentleman  for  a  friend  ?  He  has  elected 
himself  our  smoking-room  king  at  the  "  Polyanthus,'* 
and  midnight  monarch. 

As  he  talks,  in  comes  poor  Tippleton— a  kind  soul — 
a  gentleman — a  man  of  reading  and  parts — who  has 
friends  at  home  very  likely,  and  had  once  a  career  be- 
fore him — and  what  is  he  now?  His  eyes  are  vacant; 
he  reels  into  a  sofa  corner,  and  sits  in  maudhn  silence, 


56   SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  hiccups  every  now  and  then.  Old  Silenus  winks 
knowingly  round  at  the  whole  smoking-room:  most  of 
the  men  sneer— some  pity— some  very  young  cubs  laugh 
and  jeer  at  him.     Tippleton's  drunk. 


ROM  the  Library  and 
Smoking-room  re- 
gions let  us  de- 
scend to  the  lower 
floor.  Here  you 
behold  the  Coffee- 
room,  where  the 
neat  little  tables 
are  already  laid 
out,  awaiting  the 
influx  of  diners. 

A  great  advance 
in  civilization  was 
made,  and  the  hon- 
esty as  well  as  econ- 
omy of  young  men  of  the  middle  classes  immensely  pro- 
moted, when  the  ancient  tavern  system  was  overthrown, 
and  those  houses  of  meeting  instituted  where  a  man, 
without  sacrificing  his  dignity,  could  dine  for  a  couple 
of  shillings.  I  remember  in  the  days  of  my  youth  when 
a  very  moderate  dinner  at  a  reputable  coffee-house  cost 
a  man  half-a-guinea:  when  you  were  obliged  to  order  a 
pint  of  wine  for  the  good  of  the  house ;  when  the  waiter 
got  a  shilling  for  his  attendance;  and  when  young  gen- 
tlemen were  no  richer  than  they  are  now,  and  had  to  pay 
thrice  as  much  as  they  at  present  need  to  disburse  for  the 
maintenance  of  their  station. 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    57 

Then  men  (who  had  not  the  half -guinea  at  command) 
used  to  dive  into  dark  streets  in  the  vicinage  of  Soho 
or  Covent  Garden,  and  get  a  meagre  meal  at  shilling 
taverns — or  Tom,  the  clerk,  issued  out  from  your  Cham- 
bers in  Pump  Court  and  brought  back  your  dinner  be- 
tween two  plates  from  a  neighbouring  ham-and-beef 
shop.  Either  repast  was  strictly  honourable,  and  one 
can  find  no  earthly  fault  with  a  poor  gentleman  for  eat- 
ing a  poor  meal.  But  that  solitary  meal  in  Chambers 
was  indeed  a  dismal  refection.  I  think  with  anything 
but  regret  of  those  lonely  feasts  of  beef  and  cabbage; 
and  how  there  was  no  resource  for  the  long  evenings 
but  those  books,  over  which  you  had  been  poring  all 
day,  or  the  tavern  with  its  deuced  expenses,  or  the  thea- 
tre with  its  vicious  attractions.  A  young  bachelor's  life 
was  a  clumsy  piece  of  wretchedness  then — mismanaged 
and  ill  economized — just  as  your  Temple  Chambers  or 
College  rooms  now  are,  which  are  quite  behind  the  age 
in  the  decent  conveniences  which  every  modern  tene- 
ment possesses. 

And  that  dining  for  a  shilling  and  strutting  about 
Pall  Mall  afterwards  was,  after  all,  an  hypocrisy.  At 
the  time  when  the  ''  Trois  Freres  Provengaux  "  at  Paris 
had  two  entrances,  one  into  the  place  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  one  into  the  street  behind,  where  the  six- 
teen-sous  dinner-houses  are,  I  have  seen  bucks  with  pro- 
fuse tooth-picks  walk  out  of  these  latter  houses  of  en- 
tertainment, pass  up  the  "  Trois  Freres "  stairs,  and 
descend  from  the  other  door  into  the  Palais  Royal,  so 
that  the  people  walking  there  might  fancy  these  poor  fel- 
lows had  been  dining  regardless  of  expense.  No;  what 
you  call  putting  a  good  face  upon  poverty,  that  is,  hid- 
ing it  under  a  grin,  or  concealing  its  rags  under  a  make- 


58  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

shift,  is  always  rather  a  base  stratagem.  Your  Beaux 
Tibbs  and  twopenny  dandies  can  never  be  respectable 
altogether ;  and  if  a  man  is  poor,  I  say  he  ought  to  seem 
poor;  and  that  both  he  and  Society  are  in  the  wrong,  if 
either  sees  any  cause  of  shame  in  poverty. 

That  is  why  we  ought  to  be  thankful  for  Clubs.  Here 
is  no  skulking  to  get  a  cheap  dinner;  no  ordering  of 
expensive  liquors  and  dishes  for  the  good  of  the  house, 
or  cowering  sensitiveness  as  to  the  opinion  of  the  waiter. 
We  advance  in  simplicity  and  honesty  as  we  advance 
in  civilization,  and  it  is  my  belief  that  we  become 
better  bred  and  less  artificial,  and  tell  more  truth  every 
day. 

This,  you  see,  is  the  Club  Coffee-room— it  is  three 
o'clock;  young  Wideawake  is  just  finishing  his  break- 
fast (with  whom  I  have  nothing  to  do  at  present,  but 
to  say  parenthetically,  that  if  you  will  sit  up  till  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Bob  my  boy,  you  may  look  out 
to  have  a  headache  and  a  breakfast  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon). Wideawake  is  at  breakfast — Goldsworthy  is 
ordering  his  dinner — while  Mr.  Nudgit,  whom  you  see 
yonder,  is  making  his  lunch.  In  those  two  gentlemen 
is  the  moral  and  exemplification  of  the  previous  little 
remarks  which  I  have  been  making. 

You  must  know,  sir,  that  at  the  "  Polyanthus,"  in 
common  with  most  Clubs,  gentlemen  are  allowed  to  en- 
joy, gratis,  in  the  Coffee-room,  bread,  beer,  sauces,  and 
pickles. 

After  four  o'clock,  if  you  order  your  dinner,  j'-ou  have 
to  pay  sixpence  for  what  is  called  the  table — the  clean 
cloth,  the  vegetables,  cheese,  and  so  forth:  before  that 
hour  you  may  have  lunch,  when  there  is  no  table  charge. 

Now,  Goldsworthy  is  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  ge- 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    59 

nius,  who  has  courage  and  simphcity  enough  to  be  poor 
— not  like  some  fellows  whom  one  meets,  and  who  make 
a  fanfaronnade  of  poverty,  and  draping  themselves  in 
their  rags,  seem  to  cry,  "  See  how  virtuous  I  am,— how 
honest  Diogenes  is!  "  but  he  is  a  very  poor  man,  whose 
education  and  talents  are  of  the  best,  and  who  in  so  far 
claims  to  rank  with  the  very  best  people  in  the  world. 
In  his  place  in  Parliament,  when  he  takes  off  his  hat 
(which  is  both  old  and  well  brushed) ,  the  Speaker's  eye 
is  pretty  sure  to  meet  his,  and  the  House  listens  to  him 
with  the  respect  which  is  due  to  so  much  honesty  and 
talent.  He  is  the  equal  of  any  man,  however  lofty  or 
w^ealthy.  His  social  position  is  rather  improved  by  his 
poverty,  and  the  world,  which  is  a  manly  and  generous 
world  in  its  impulses,  however  it  may  be  in  its  practice, 
contemplates  with  a  sincere  regard  and  admiration  Mr. 
Goldsworthy's  manner  of  bearing  his  lack  of  fortune. 
He  is  going  to  dine  for  a  shilling;  he  will  have  two 
mutton-chops  (and  the  mutton-chop  is  a  thing  unknown 
in  domestic  life  and  in  the  palaces  of  epicures,  where 
you  may  get  cutlets  dressed  with  all  sorts  of  French 
sauces,  but  not  the  admirable  mutton-chop),  and  with 
a  due  allowance  of  the  Club  bread  and  beer,  he  will  make 
a  perfectly  wholesome,  and  sufficient,  and  excellent 
meal ;  and  go  down  to  the  House  and  fire  into  Ministers 
this  very  night. 

Now,  I  say,  this  man  dining  for  a  shilling  is  a  pleasant 
spectacle  to  behold.  I  respect  ]Mr.  Goldsworthy  vAih  all 
my  heart,  without  sharing  those  ultra-conservative  po- 
litical opinions  which  we  all  know  he  entertains,  and 
from  which  no  interest,  temptation,  or  hope  of  place 
will  cause  him  to  swerve;  and  you  see  he  is  waited  upon 
with  as  much  respect  here  as  old  Silenus,  though  he 


60  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

order  the  most  sumptuous  banquet  the  cook  can  devise, 
or  bully  the  waiters  ever  so. 

But  ah,  Bob !  what  can  we  say  of  the  conduct  of  that 
poor  little  Mr.  Nudgit?  He  has  a  bed-chamber  in  some 
court  unknown  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  "  Polyan- 
thus." He  makes  a  breakfast  with  the  Club  bread  and 
beer;  he  lunches  off  the  same  supplies — and  being  of 
an  Epicurean  taste,  look  what  he  does — he  is  actually 
pouring  a  cruet  of  anchovy  sauce  over  his  bread  to  give 
it  a  flavour;  and  I  have  seen  the  unconscionable  little 
gourmand  sidle  off  to  the  pickle- jars  when  he  thought 
nobody  was  observing,  and  pop  a  walnut  or  half  a  dozen 
of  pickled  onions  into  his  mouth,  and  swallow  them  with 
a  hideous  furtive  relish. 

He  disappears  at  dinner-time,  and  returns  at  half- 
past  seven  or  eight  o'clock,  and  wanders  round  the  tables 
when  the  men  are  at  their  dessert  and  generous  over 
their  wine.  He  has  a  number  of  little  stories  about  the 
fashionable  world  to  tell,  and  is  not  unentertaining. 
When  you  dine  here,  sometimes  give  Nudgit  a  glass  or 
two  out  of  your  decanter.  Bob  my  boy,  and  comfort  his 
poor  old  soul.  He  was  a  gentleman  once  and  had 
money,  as  he  will  be  sure  to  tell  j^ou.  He  is  mean  and 
feeble,  but  not  unkind — a  poor  little  parasite  not  to  be 
unpitied.  Mr.  Nudgit,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
a  new  member,  my  nephew,  Mr.  Robert  Brown. 

At  this  moment,  old  Silenus  swaggers  in,  bearing  his 
great  waistcoat  before  him,  and  walking  up  to  the  desk 
where  the  coffee-room  clerk  sits  and  where  the  bills  of 
fare  are  displayed.  As  he  passes,  he  has  to  undergo 
the  fire  of  Mr.  Goldsworthy's  eyes,  which  dart  out  at 
him  two  flashes  of  the  most  killing  scorn.  He  has  passed 
by  the  battery  without  sinking,  and  lays  himself  along- 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB    01 

side  the  desk.  Nudgit  watches  him,  and  will  presently 
go  up  smirking  humbly  to  join  him. 

"  Hunt,"  he  says,  "  I  want  a  table,  ni}''  table,  you 
know,  at  seven — dinner  for  eight — Lord  Hobanob  dines 
with  me — send  the  butler — What's  in  the  bill  of  fare? 
Let's  have  clear  soup  and  turtle — I've  sent  it  in  from 
the  city — dressed  fish  and  turbot,"  and  with  a  swollen 
trembling  hand  he  writes  down  a  pompous  bill  of  fare. 

As  I  said,  Nudgit  comes  up  simpering,  with  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand. 

"  Hullo,  Nudg!  "  says  Mr.  Silenus,  "  how's  the  beer? 
Pickles  good  to-da}^?  " 

Nudgit  smiles  in  a  gentle  deprecatory  manner. 

"  Smell  out  a  good  dinner,  hey,  Nudg? "  says  Dives. 

"  If  any  man  knows  how  to  give  one,  you  do,'* 
answers  the  poor  beggar.  "  I  wasn't  a  bad  hand  at 
ordering  a  dinner  myself,  once;  what's  the  fish  in  the 
list  to-day?  "  and  with  a  weak  smile  he  casts  his  eye  over 
the  bill  of  fare. 

"  Lord  Hobanob  dines  with  me,  and  he  knows  what  a 
good  dinner  is,  I  can  tell  you,"  says  Mr.  Silenus,  "  so 
does  Cramley." 

"  Both  well-known  epicures,"  says  Nudgit. 

"I'm  going  to  give  Hobanob  a  return  dinner  to  his  at 
the  '  Rhododendrum.'  He  bet  me  that  Batifol,  the 
chef  at  the  '  Rhododendrum,'  did  better  than  our  man 
can.  Hob's  dinner  was  last  Wednesday,  and  I  don't 
say  it  wasn't  a  good  one;  or  that  taking  Grosbois  by 
surprise,  is  giving  him  quite  fair  play — but  we'll  see, 
Nudgit.    I  know  what  Grosbois  can  do." 

"  I  should  think  you  did,  indeed,  Silenus,"  says  the 
other. 

"  I  see  your  mouth's  watering.     I'd  ask  you,  only  I 


62  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

know  you're  engaged.  You're  always  engaged,  Nudgit 
— not  to-day?  Well  then,  j^ou  may  come;  and  I  say, 
Mr.  Nudgit,  we'll  have  a  wet  evening,  sir,  mind  you 
that." 

Mr.  Bowls,  the  butler,  here  coming  in,  Mr.  Silenus 
falls  into  conversation  ^vith  him  about  wines  and  icing. 
I  am  glad  poor  Nudgit  has  got  his  dinner.  He  will  go 
and  walk  in  the  Park  to  get  up  an  appetite.  And  now, 
INIr.  Bob,  having  shown  you  over  your  new  house,  I 
too  will  bid  you  for  the  present  farewell. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  IN  SEASON 


HEN  my  good 
fi*iend,Mr.  Punch, 
some  time  since, 
asked  mie  to  com- 
pile a  series  of 
conversations  for 
young  men  in  the 
dancing  world,  so 
that  they  might 
be  agreeable  to 
their  partners,  and 
advance  their  own 
success  in  life, 
I  consented  with 
a  willing  heart, 
to  my  venerable 
friend's  request,  for  I  desire  nothing  better  than  to  pro- 
mote the  amusement  and  happiness  of  all  young  people ; 
and  nothing,  I  thought,  would  be  easier  than  to  touch 
off  a  few  light,  airy,  graceful  little  sets  of  phrases, 
which  young  fellows  might  adopt  or  expand,  according 
to  their  own  ingenuity  and  leisure. 

Well,  sir,  I  imagined  myself,  just  for  an  instant,  to 
be  young  again,  and  that  I  had  a  neat  waist  instead  of 
that  bow-window  with  which  Time  and  Nature  have  or- 
namented the  castle  of  my  body,  and  brown  locks  in- 

63 


64  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

stead  of  a  bald  pate  (there  was  a  time,  sir,  when  my 
hair  was  not  considered  the  worst  part  of  me,  and  I 
recollect  when  I  was  a  young  man  in  the  Militia,  and 
when  pigtails  finally  went  out  in  our  corps,  who  it  was 
that  longed  to  have  my  queue — it  was  found  in  her  desk 
at  her  death,  and  my  poor  dear  wife  was  always  jealous 
of  her,)  — I  just  chose,  I  say,  to  fancy  myself  a  young 
man,  and  that  I  would  go  up  in  imagination  and  ask 
a  girl  to  dance  with  me.  So  I  chose  Maria — a  man 
might  go  farther  and  fare  worse  than  choose  Maria, 
Mr.  Bob. 

"  My  dear  Miss  E.,"  says  I,  "  may  I  have  the  honour 
of  dancing  the  next  set  with  you?  " 

"  The  next  nohat?  "  saj^s  ]\Iiss  E.,  smiling,  and  turn- 
ing to  ]Mrs.  E.,  as  if  to  ask  what  a  set  meant. 

"  I  forgot,"  says  I ;  "  the  next  quadrille,  I  would  say." 

"  It  is  rather  slow  dancing  quadrilles,"  says  Miss  E. ; 
*'  but  if  I  must,  I  must." 

"  Well,  then,  a  Maltz,  will  that  do?  I  know  nothing 
prettier  than  a  waltz  played  not  too  quick." 

"  What!  "  says  she,  "  do  you  want  a  horrid  old  three- 
timed  waltz,  like  that  which  the  little  figures  dance  upon 
the  barrel-organs  ?  You  silly  old  creature :  you  are  good- 
natured,  but  you  are  in  your  dotage.  All  these  dances 
are  passed  away.  You  might  as  well  ask  me  to  wear 
a  gown  with  a  waist  up  to  my  shoulders,  like  that  in 
which  mamma  was  married;  or  a  hoop  and  high  heels, 
like  grandmamma  in  the  picture;  or  to  dance  a  gavotte 
or  a  minuet.  Things  are  changed,  old  gentleman — the 
fashions  of  your  time  are  gone,  and — and  the  bucks  of 
your  time  will  go  too,  IMr.  Brown.  If  I  want  to  dance, 
here  is  Captain  Whiskerfield,  who  is  ready;  or  young 
Studdington,  who  is  a  delightful  partner.     He  brings 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  65 

a  little  animation  into  our  balls;  and  when  he  is 
not  in  society,  dances  every  night  at  Vauxhall  and  the 

asino. 

I  pictured  to  myself  Maria  giving  some  such  reply 
to  my  equally  imaginative  demand — for  of  course  I 
never  made  the  request,  any  more  than  she  did  the  an- 
swer— and  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  after  turning  over  the 
matter  of  ball-room  conversations  in  my  mind,  and  sit- 
ting with  pen  and  ink  before  me  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
I  found  that  I  had  nothing  at  all  to  say  on  the  subject, 
and  have  no  more  right  to  teach  a  youth  w^hat  he  is  to 
say  in  the  present  day  to  his  partner,  than  I  should  have 
had  in  my  own  boyhood  to  instruct  my  own  grand- 
mother in  the  art  of  sucking  eggs.  We  should  pay  as 
much  reverence  to  youth  as  we  should  to  age;  there  are 
points  in  which  you  young  folks  are  altogether  our  su- 
periors: and  I  can't  help  constantly  crying  out  to  per- 
sons of  my  own  years,  when  busied  about  their  young 
people — leave  them  alone;  don't  be  always  meddling 
with  their  affairs,  which  they  can  manage  for  them- 
selves; don't  be  alwaj^s  insisting  upon  managing  their 
boats,  and  putting  your  oars  in  the  water  with  theirs. 

So  I  have  the  modest}'-  to  think  that  Mr.  Punch  and 
I  were  a  couple  of  conceited  old  fogies,  in  devising  the 
above  plan  of  composing  conversation  for  the  benefit 
of  youth,  and  that  young  folks  can  manage  to  talk  of 
what  interests  them,  without  any  prompting  on  our  part. 
To  say  the  truth,  I  have  hardly  been  to  a  ball  these  three 

years.    I  saw  the  head  of  the  stair  at  H.  E.'s  the  T 

Ambassador  in  Br ne  Square,  the  other  night,  but 

retired  without  even  getting  a  sight  of,  or  making  my 
bow  to  Her  Excellency;  thinking  wisely  that  mon  lait 
de  poule  et  mon  bonnet  de  nuit  much  better  became  me 


66  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

at  that  hour  of  midnight  than  the  draught  in  a  crowded 
passage,  and  the  sight  of  ever  so  many  beauties. 

But  though  I  don't  go  myself  to  these  assembhes,  I 
have  intelhgence  amongst  people  who  go :  and  hear  from 
the  girls  and  their  mammas  what  they  do,  and  how  they 
enjoy  themselves.  I  must  own  that  some  of  the  new 
arrangements  please  me  very  much,  as  being  natural 
and  simple,  and,  in  so  far,  superior  to  the  old  mode. 

In  mj'  time,  for  instance,  a  ball-room  used  to  be  more 
than  half-filled  with  old  male  and  female  fogies,  whose 
persons  took  up  a  great  deal  of  valuable  room,  who  did 
not  in  the  least  ornament  the  walls  against  which  they 
stood,  and  who  would  have  been  much  better  at  home 
in  bed.  In  a  great  country-house,  where  j^ou  have  a 
hall  fire-place  in  which  an  ox  might  be  roasted  conve- 
nientlj%  the  presence  of  a  few  score  more  or  less  of 
stout  old  folks  can  make  no  difference;  there  is  room 
for  them  at  the  card-tables,  and  round  the  supper-board, 
and  the  sight  of  their  honest  red  faces  and  white  waist- 
coats lining  the  wall  cheers  and  illuminates  the  Assem- 
bly Room. 

But  it  is  a  very  different  case  when  j^ou  have  a  small 
house  in  Mayfair,  or  in  the  pleasant  district  of  Pimlico 
and  Tyburn;  and  accordingly  I  am  happy  to  hear  that 
the  custom  is  rapidly  spreading  of  asking  none  but 
dancing  people  to  balls.  It  was  only  this  morning  that 
I  was  arguing  the  point  with  our  cousin  Mrs.  Crowder, 
who  was  greatly  irate  because  her  daughter  Fanny  had 
received  an  invitation  to  go  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Tim- 
mins,  to  Lady  Tutbury's  ball,  whereas  poor  Mrs.  Crow- 
der had  been  told  that  she  could  on  no  account  get  a 
card. 

Now  Blanche  Crowder  is  a  very  large  woman  natu- 


A  WORD   ABOUT   BALLS  67 

rally,  and  with  the  present  fashion  of  flounces  in  dress, 
this  balloon  of  a  creature  would  occupy  the  best  part  of 
a  little  back  drawing-room;  whereas  Rosa  Timmins  is 
a  little  bit  of  a  thing,  who  takes  up  no  space  at  all,  and 
furnishes  the  side  of  a  room  as  prettily  as  a  bank  of 
flowers  could.  I  tried  to  convince  our  cousin  upon  this 
point,  this  emhonpoint,  I  maj^  say,  and  of  course  being 
too  polite  to  make  remarks  personal  to  INIrs.  Crowder, 
I  playfully  directed  them  elsewhere. 

"  Dear  Blanche,"  said  I,  "  don't  you  see  how  greatly 
Lady  Tutbury  w^ould  have  to  extend  her  premises  if  all 
the  relatives  of  all  her  dancers  were  to  be  invited?  She 
has  already  flung  out  a  marquee  over  the  leads,  and 
actually  included  the  cistern — what  can  she  do  more! 
If  all  the  girls  were  to  have  chaperons,  where  could  the 
elders  sit?  Tutbury  himself  will  not  be  present.  He  is 
a  large  and  roomy  man,  like  your  humble  servant,  and 
Ladv  Tut  has  sent  him  off  to  Greenwich  or  the  '  Star 
and  Garter  '  for  the  night,  where,  I  have  no  doubt,  he 
and  some  other  stout  fellows  will  make  themselves  com- 
fortable. At  a  ball  amongst  persons  of  moderate  means 
and  large  acquaintance  in  London,  room  is  much  more 
precious  than  almost  anybody's  companj^  except  that  of 
the  beauties  and  the  dancers.  Look  at  Lord  Trample- 
ton,  that  enormous  hulking  monster,  (who  nevertheless 
dances  beautifulty,  as  all  big  men  do,)  w^hen  he  takes 
out  his  favourite  partner.  Miss  Wirledge,  to  polk,  his 
arm,  as  he  whisks  her  round  and  round,  forms  radii  of 
a  circle  of  very  considerable  diameter.  He  almost  w^ants 
a  room  to  himself.  Young  men  and  women  now,  w^hen 
the}'^  dance,  dance  really;  it  is  no  lazy  sauntering,  as  of 
old,  but  downright  hard  work — after  which  they  want 
air  and  refreshment.    How  can  they  get  the  one,  when 


68  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  rooms  are  filled  with  elderly  folks ;  or  the  other,  when 
we  are  squeezing  round  the  supper-tables,  and  drinking 
up  all  the  available  champagne  and  seltzer-water?  No, 
no ;  the  present  plan,  which  I  hear  is  becoming  general, 
is  admirable  for  London.  Let  there  be  half-a-dozen  of 
good,  active,  bright-eyed  chaj^erons  and  duennas,  little 
women,  who  are  more  active,  and  keep  a  better  look-out 
than  your  languishing  voluptuous  beauties"  (I  said 
this,  casting  at  the  same  time  a  look  of  peculiar  tender- 
ness towards  Blanche  Crowder)  ;  "let  them  keep  watch 
and  see  that  all  is  right— that  the  j^oung  men  don't 
dance  too  often  with  the  same  girl,  or  disappear  on  to 
the  balcony,  and  that  sort  of  thing;  let  them  have  good 
large  roomj^  family  coaches  to  carry  the  young  women 
home  to  their  mammas.  In  a  word,  at  a  ball,  let  there 
be  for  the  future  no  admittance  except  upon  business. 
In  all  the  affairs  of  London  life,  that  is  the  rule,  de- 
pend upon  it." 

"  And  pray  who  told  you,  ]Mr.  Brown,  that  I  didn't 
wish  to  dance  myself?  "  says  Blanche,  surveying  her 
great  person  in  the  looking-glass  (which  could  scarcely 
contain  it)  and  flouncing  out  of  the  room;  and  I  actually 
believe  that  the  unconscionable  creature,  at  her  age  and 
size,  is  still  thinking  that  she  is  a  fairy,  and  that  the 
young  fellows  would  like  to  dance  round  the  room  with 
her.  Ah,  Bob!  I  remember  that  grotesque  woman  a 
slim  and  graceful  girl.  I  remember  others  tender  and 
beautiful,  whose  bright  eyes  glitter,  and  whose  sweet 
voices  whisper  no  more.  So  they  pass  away — youth  and 
beauty,  love  and  innocence,  pass  away  and  perish.  I 
think  of  one  now,  whom  I  remember  the  fairest  and  the 
gaj^est,  the  kindest  and  the  purest;  her  laughter  was 
music — I  can  hear  it  still,  though  it  will  never  echo  any 


A  WORD   ABOUT  BALLS  69 

more.  Far  away,  the  silent  tomb  closes  over  her.  Other 
roses  than  those  of  our  prime  grow  up  and  bloom,  and 
have  their  day.  Honest  youth,  generous  youth,  may 
yours  be  as  pure  and  as  fair ! 

I  did  not  think  when  I  began  to  write  it,  that  the  last 
sentence  would  have  finished  so;  but  life  is  not  alto- 
gether jocular,  Mr.  Bob,  and  one  comes  upon  serious 
thoughts  suddenly  as  upon  a  funeral  in  the  street.  Let 
us  go  back  to  the  business  we  are  upon,  namely,  balls, 
whereof  it,  perhaps,  has  struck  you  that  your  uncle  has 
very  little  to  say. 

I  saw  one  announced  in  the  morning  fashionable 
print  to-day,  with  a  fine  list  of  some  of  the  greatest  folks 
in  London,  and  had  previously  heard  from  various  quar- 
ters how  eager  many  persons  were  to  attend  it,  and 
how  splendid  an  entertainment  it  was  to  be.  And 
so  the  morning  paper  announced  that  Mrs.  Hornby 
Madox  threw  open  her  house  in  So-and-so  Street,  and 
was  assisted  in  receiving  her  guests  by  Lady  Fugle- 
man. 

Now  this  is  a  sort  of  entertainment  and  arrangement 
than  which  I  confess  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  queer, 
though  I  believe  it  is  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Eng- 
lish society.  Mrs.  Hornby  Madox  comes  into  her  for- 
tune of  ten  thousand  a  year — wishes  to  be  presented  in 
the  London  world,  having  lived  in  the  country  pre- 
viously— spares  no  expense  to  make  her  house  and  fes- 
tival as  handsome  as  may  be,  and  gets  Lady  Fugleman 
to  ask  the  comj^any  for  her — not  the  honest  Hornby s, 
not  the  family  Madoxes,  not  the  jolly  old  squires  and 
friends  and  relatives  of  her  family,  and  from  her 
county;  but  the  London  dandies  and  the  London  so- 
ciety: whose  names  you  see  chronicled  at  every  party, 


70  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  who,  being  Lady  Fugleman's  friends,  are  invited 
by  her  ladyship  to  JNIrs.  Hornby's  house. 

What  a  strange  notion  of  society  does  this  give — of 
friendship,  of  fashion,  of  what  people  will  do  to  be  in 
the  fashion !  Poor  ]Mrs.  Hornby  comes  into  her  fortune, 
and  says  to  her  old  friends  and  family,  "  INIy  good  peo- 
ple, I  am  going  to  cut  every  one  of  you.  You  were  very 
well  as  long  as  we  were  in  the  country,  where  I  might 
have  my  natural  likings  and  affections.  But,  hence- 
forth, I  am  going  to  let  Lady  Fugleman  choose  my 
friends  for  me.  I  know  nothing  about  you  any  more. 
I  have  no  objection  to  you,  but  if  you  want  to  know  me 
3^ou  must  ask  Lady  Fugleman:  if  she  says  yes,  I  shall 
be  delighted;  if  no,  Bon  jour." 

This  strange  business  goes  on  daily  in  London.  Hon- 
est people  do  it,  and  think  not  the  least  harm.  The 
proudest  and  noblest  do  not  think  they  demean  them- 
selves by  crowding  to  INIrs.  Goldcalf's  parties,  and 
strike  quite  openly  a  union  between  her  wealth  and  their 
titles,  to  determine  as  soon  as  the  former  ceases.  There 
is  not  the  least  Iwpocrisj^  about  this,  at  any  rate— the 
terms  of  the  bargain  are  quite  understood  on  every 
hand. 

But  oh,  Bob !  see  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  confess, 
and  would  not  even  hjq^ocrisy  be  better  than  this  daring 
cynicism,  this  open  heartlessness — Godlessness  I  had 
almost  called  it?  Do  j^ou  mean  to  say,  you  great  folks, 
that  your  object  in  society  is  not  love,  is  not  friendship, 
is  not  famih^  union  and  affection — is  not  truth  and 
kindness; — is  not  generous  sympathy  and  union  of 
Christian  (pardon  me  the  word,  but  I  can  indicate  my 
meaning  by  no  other)  — of  Christian  men  and  women, 
parents  and  children, — but  that  you  assemble  and  meet 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  71 

together,  not  caring  or  trying  to  care  for  one  another, — 
without  a  pretext  of  good  will — with  a  daring  selfish- 
ness openly  avowed?  I  am  sure  I  wish  Mrs.  Goldcalf 
or  the  other  lady  no  harm,  and  have  never  spoken  to, 
or  set  eyes  on  either  of  them,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  say, 
Mr.  Robert,  that  you  and  I  are  a  whit  better  than  they 
are,  and  doubt  whether  they  have  made  the  calculation 
for  themselves  of  the  consequences  of  what  they  are 
doing.  But  as  sure  as  two  and  two  make  four,  a  per- 
son giving  up  of  his  own  accord  his  natural  friends  and 
relatives,  for  the  sake  of  the  fashion,  seems  to  me  to 
say,  I  acknowledge  myself  to  be  heartless;  I  turn  my 
back  on  my  friends,  I  disown  my  relatives,  and  I  dis- 
honour my  father  and  mother. 


A   WORD   ABOUT   DINNERS 


NGLISH  Society,  my  beloved 
Bob,  has  this  eminent  advan- 
tage over  all  other — that  is,  if 
there  be  any  society  left  in  the 
wretched  distracted  old  EfUro- 
pean  continent — that  it  is  above 
all  others  a  dinner-giving  soci- 
ety. A  people  like  the  Ger- 
mans, that  dines  habitually,  and 
with  what  vast  aj^petite  I  need 
not  say,  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon — like  the  Italians, 
that  spends  its  evenings  in 
opera-boxes — like  the  French, 
that  amuses  itself  of  nights  with 
eau  sucree  and  intrigue — can- 
not, believe  me,  understand  So- 
ciety rightly.  I  love  and  admire 
my  nation  for  its  good  sense,  its  manliness,  its  friendli- 
ness, its  morahty  in  the  main — and  these,  I  take  it,  are 
all  expressed  in  that  noble  institution,  the  dinner. 

The  dinner  is  the  happy  end  of  the  Briton's  day.  We 
work  harder  than  the  other  nations  of  the  earth.  We 
do  more,  we  live  more  in  our  time,  than  Frenchmen 
or  Germans.  Every  great  man  amongst  us  likes  his 
dinner,  and  takes  to  it  kindly.  I  could  mention  the  most 
august  names  of  poets,  statesmen,  philosophers,  histo- 


A  WORD  ABOUT  DINNERS  73 

rians,  judges,  and  divines,  who  are  great  at  the  dinner- 
table  as  in  the  field,  the  closet,  the  senate,  or  the  bench. 
Gibbon  mentions  that  he  wrote  the  first  two  volumes  of 
his  history  whilst  a  placeman  in  London,  lodging  in 
St.  James's,  going  to  the  House  of  Commons,  to  the 
Club,  and  to  dinner  everj^  day.  The  man  flourishes 
under  that  generous  and  robust  regimen;  the  healthy 
energies  of  society  are  kept  up  by  it;  our  friendly  in- 
tercourse is  maintained;  our  intellect  ripens  with  the 
good  cheer,  and  throws  off  surprising  crops,  like  the 
fields  about  Edinburgh,  under  the  influence  of  that  ad- 
mirable liquid,  Claret.  The  best  wines  are  sent  to  this 
country  therefore;  for  no  other  deserves  them  as  ours 
does. 

I  am  a  diner-out,  and  live  in  London.  I  protest,  as 
I  look  back  at  the  men  and  dinners  I  have  seen  in  the 
last  week,  my  mind  is  filled  with  manly  respect  and 
pleasure.  How  good  they  have  been!  how  admirable 
the  entertainments!  how  worthy  the  men! 

Let  me,  without  divulging  names,  and  with  a  cordial 
gratitude,  mention  a  few  of  those  whom  I  have  met  and 
who  have  all  done  their  duty. 

Sir,  I  have  sat  at  table  with  a  great,  a  world-renowned 
statesman.  I  watched  him  during  the  progress  of  the 
banquet — I  am  at  liberty  to  say  that  he  enjoyed  it  like 
a  man. 

On  another  day,  it  was  a  celebrated  literary  character. 
It  was  beautiful  to  see  him  at  his  dinner :  cordial  and  gen- 
erous, jovial  and  kindly,  the  great  author  enjoyed  him- 
self as  the  great  statesman— may  he  long  give  us  good 
books  and  good  dinners! 

Yet  another  day,  and  I  sat  opposite  to  a  Right  Rev- 
erend Bishop.     My  Lord,  I  was  pleased  to  see  good 


74.  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

thing  after  good  thing  disappear  before  you;  and  I 
think  no  man  ever  better  became  that  rounded  episcopal 
apron.  How  amiable  he  was !  how  kind !  He  put  water 
into  his  wine.  Let  us  respect  the  moderation  of  the 
Church. 

And  then  the  men  learned  in  the  law:  how  they  dinel 
what  hospitality,  what  splendour,  what  comfort,  what 
wine !    As  we  walked  away  very  gently  in  the  moonlight, 

only  three  days  since,  from  the 's,  a  friend  of  my 

youth  and  myself,  we  could  hardly  speak  for  gratitude: 
"  Dear  sir,"  we  breathed  fervently,  "  ask  us  soon  again." 
One  never  has  too  much  at  those  perfect  banquets — no 
hideous  headaches  ensue,  or  horrid  resolutions  about 
adopting  Revalenta  Arabica  for  the  future — but  con- 
tentment with  all  the  world,  light  slumbering,  joyful 
waking  to  grapple  with  the  morrow's  work.  Ah,  dear 
Bob,  those  lawyers  have  great  merits.  There  is  a  dear 
old  judge  at  whose  family  table  if  I  could  see  you 
seated,  my  desire  in  life  would  be  pretty  nearly  fulfilled. 
If  you  make  yourself  agreeable  there,  you  will  be  in  a 
fair  way  to  get  on  in  the  world.  But  you  are  a  youth 
still.    Youths  go  to  balls :  men  go  to  dinners. 

Doctors,  again,  notoriously  eat  well;  when  my  excel- 
lent friend  Sangrado  takes  a  bumper,  and  saying,  with 
a  shrug  and  a  twinkle  of  his  eye,  ''Video  meliora  pro- 
hoque,  deteriora  sequor"  tosses  off  the  wine,  I  always 
ask  the  butler  for  a  glass  of  that  bottle. 

The  inferior  clergy,  likewise,  dine  very  much  and  well. 
I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  better  entertained,  as 
far  as  creature  comforts  go,  than  by  men  of  very  Low 
Church  principles ;  and  one  of  the  very  best  repasts  that 
ever  I  saw  in  my  life  was  at  Darlington,  given  by  a 
Quaker. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  DINNERS  75 

Some  of  the  best  wine  in  London  is  given  to  his 
friends  by  a  poet  of  my  acquaintance.  All  artists  are 
notoriously  fond  of  dinners,  and  invite  you,  but  not 
so  profusely.  Newspaper-editors  delight  in  dinners  on 
Saturdays,  and  give  them,  thanks  to  the  present  posi- 
tion of  Literature,  very  often  and  good.  Dear  Bob,  I 
have  seen  the  mahoganies  of  many  men. 

Every  evening  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  I  like 
to  look  at  the  men  dressed  for  dinner,  perambulating 
the  western  districts  of  our  city.  I  like  to  see  the  smile 
on  their  countenances  lighted  up  with  an  indescribable 
self-importance  and  good-humour;  the  askance  glances 
which  they  cast  at  the  little  street-boys  and  foot-passen- 
gers who  eye  their  shiny  boots;  the  dainty  manner  in 
which  they  trip  over  the  pavement  on  those  boots,  es- 
chewing the  mud-pools  and  dirty  crossings;  the  refresh- 
ing whiteness  of  their  linen;  the  coaxing  twiddle  wliich 
they  give  to  the  ties  of  their  white  chokers — the  caress 
of  a  fond  parent  to  an  innocent  child. 

I  like  walking  myself.  Those  who  go  in  cabs  or 
broughams,  I  have  remarked,  have  not  the  same  radi- 
ant expression  which  the  pedestrian  exhibits.  A  man 
in  his  own  brougham  has  anxieties  about  the  stepping 
of  his  horse,  or  the  squaring  of  the  groom's  elbows,  or 
a  doubt  whether  Jones's  turnout  is  not  better;  or  whe- 
ther something  is  not  wrong  in  the  springs;  or  whether 
he  shall  have  the  brougham  out  if  the  night  is  rainy. 
They  always  look  tragical  behind  the  glasses.  A  cab 
diner-out  has  commonly  some  cares,  lest  his  sense  of 
justice  should  be  injured  by  the  overcharge  of  the  driver 
(these  fellows  are  not  uncommonly  exorbitant  in  their 
demands  upon  gentlemen  whom  they  set  down  at  good 
houses)  ;  lest  the  smell  of  tobacco  left  by  the  last  occu- 


76  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

pants  of  the  vehicle  (five  medical  students,  let  us  say, 
who  have  chartered  the  vehicle,  and  smoked  cheroots 
from  the  London  University  to  the  play-house  in  the 
Haymarket)  should  infest  the  clothes  of  Tom  Lavender 
who  is  going  to  Lady  Rosemary's;  lest  straws  should 
stick  unobserved  to  the  glutinous  lustre  of  his  boots— his 
shiny  ones,  and  he  should  aj^pear  in  Dives's  drawing- 
room  like  a  poet  with  a  te?iui  aveiidj  or  like  Mad  Tom 
in  the  play.  I  hope,  my  dear  Bob,  if  a  straw  should 
ever  enter  a  drawing-room  in  the  wake  of  your  boot, 
you  will  not  be  much  disturbed  in  mind.     Hark  ye,  in 

confidence;  I  have  seen ^  in  a  hack-cab.     There  is 

no  harm  in  employing  one.  There  is  no  harm  in  any- 
thing natural,  any  more. 

I  cannot  help  here  parenthetically  relating  a  story 
which  occurred  in  my  own  youth,  in  the  year  1815,  at 
the  time  when  I  first  made  my  own  entree  into  society 
(for  everything  must  have  a  beginning.  Bob;  and 
though  we  have  been  gentlemen  long  before  the  Con- 
queror, and  have  always  consorted  with  gentlemen,  yet 
we  had  not  always  attained  that  haute  volee  of  fashion 
which  has  distinguished  some  of  us  subsequently)  ;  I 
recollect,  I  say,  in  1815,  when  the  JNIarquis  of  Sweet- 
bread was  good  enough  to  ask  me  and  the  late  INIr. 
Ruffles  to  dinner,  to  meet  Prince  Schwartzenberg  and 
the  Hetman  Platoff .  Ruffles  was  a  man  a  good  deal 
about  town  in  those  daj^s,  and  certainly  in  very  good 
society. 

I  was  mj^self  a  young  one,  and  thought  Ruffles  was 
rather  inclined  to  patronize  me:  which  I  did  not  like. 
"  I  would  have  you  to  know,  INIr.  Ruffles,"  thought  I, 

^  Mr.  Brown's  MS.  here  contains  a  name  of  such  prodigious  dignity  out  of 
the  "  P— r-ge,"  that  we  really  do  not  dare  to  print  it. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  DIXXERS  77 

"that,  after  all,  a  gentleman  can  but  be  a  gentleman; 
that  though  we  Browns  have  no  handles  to  our  names,  we 
are  quite  as  well-bred  as  some  folks  who  possess  those 
ornaments  " — and  in  fine  I  determined  to  give  him  a 
lesson.  So  when  he  called  for  me  in  the  hackney-coach 
at  my  lodgings  in  Swallow  Street,  and  we  had  driven 
under  the  porte-cochere  of  Sweetbread  House,  where 
two  tall  and  powdered  domestics  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Sweetbreads,  viz.  a  spinach-coloured  coat,  with  w^aist- 
coat  and  the  rest  of  delicate  yellow  or  melted-butter  col- 
our,  opened  the  doors  of  the  hall — what  do  j^ou  think, 
sir,  I  did?  In  the  presence  of  these  gentlemen,  who 
were  holding  on  at  the  door,  I  offered  to  toss  up  with 
Ruffles,  heads  or  tails,  who  should  pay  for  the  coach; 
and  then  purposely  had  a  dispute  with  the  poor  Jarvey 
about  the  fare.  Ruffles's  face  of  agonj^  during  this  trans- 
action I  shall  never  forget.  Sir,  it  was  like  the  La- 
ocoon.  Drops  of  perspiration  trembled  on  his  pallid 
brow,  and  he  flung  towards  me  looks  of  imploring  terror 
that  would  have  melted  an  ogre.  A  better  fellow  than 
Ruffles  never  lived— he  is  dead  long  since,  and  I  don't 
mind  owning  to  this  harmless  little  deceit. 

A  person  of  some  note — a  favourite  Snob  of  mine — 
I  am  told,  when  he  goes  to  dinner,  adopts  what  he  con- 
siders a  happy  artifice,  and  sends  his  cab  away  at  the 
corner  of  the  street ;  so  that  the  gentleman  in  livery  may 
not  behold  its  number,  or  that  the  lord  with  whom  he 
dines,  and  about  whom  he  is  always  talking,  may  not  be 
supposed  to  know  that  INIr.  Smith  came  in  a  hack-cab. 

A  man  who  is  troubled  with  a  shame  like  this.  Bob, 
is  unworthj^  of  anj^  dinner  at  all.  Such  a  man  must 
needs  be  a  sneak  and  a  humbug,  anxious  about  the 
effect  which  he  is  to  produce :  uneasj^  in  his  mind :  a  don- 


78  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

key  in  a  lion's  skin:  a  small  pretender— distracted  by 
doubts  and  frantic  terrors  of  what  is  to  come  next.  Such 
a  man  can  be  no  more  at  ease  in  his  chair  at  dinner  than 
a  man  is  in  the  fauteuil  at  the  dentist's  {unless  indeed  he 
go  to  the  admirable  Mr.  Gilbert  in  Suffolk  Street,  who 
is  dragged  into  this  essay  for  the  benefit  of  mankind 
alone,  and  who,  I  vow,  removes  a  grinder  with  so  little 
pain,  that  all  the  world  should  be  made  aware  of  him) 
— a  fellow,  I  say,  ashamed  of  the  original  from  which 
he  sprung,  of  the  cab  in  which  he  drives,  awkward,  there- 
fore aifected  and  unnatural,  can  never  hope  or  deserve 
to  succeed  in  societ3\ 

The  great  comfort  of  the  society  of  great  folks  is, 
that  they  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  your  two- 
penny little  person,  as  smaller  persons  do,  but  take  you 
for  what  you  are — a  man  kindly  and  good-natured,  or 
witty  and  sarcastic,  or  learned  and  eloquent,  or  a  good 
raconteur,  or  a  very  handsome  man,  (and  in  '15  some 
of  the  Browns  were — but  I  am  speaking  of  five-and- 
thirty  years  ago,)  or  an  excellent  gourmand  and  judge 
of  wines — or  what  not.  Nobody  sets  you  so  quickly 
at  your  ease  as  a  fine  gentleman.  I  have  seen  more  noise 
made  about  a  knif?ht's  lady  than  about  the  Duchess  of 
Fitzbattleaxe  herself:  and  Lady  Mountararat,  whose 
family  dates  from  the  Deluge,  enters  and  leaves  a  room, 
with  her  daughters,  the  lovely  Ladies  Eve  and  Lilith 
D'Arc,  with  much  less  pretension  and  in  much  simpler 
capotes  and  what-do-you-call-'ems,  than  Lady  de  Mo- 
gyns  or  INIrs.  Shindy,  who  quit  an  assembly  in  a  whirl- 
wind as  it  were,  with  trumpets  and  alarums  like  a  stage 
king  and  queen. 

But  my  pen  can  run  no  further,  for  my  paper  is  out, 
and  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 


ON  SOME  OLD  CUSTOMS  OF  THE 
DINNER-TABLE 


all  the  sciences 
which  have  made 
a  progress  in  late 
years,  I  think, 
dear  Bob  (to  re- 
turn to  the  sub- 
ject from  which 
I  parted  with  so 
much  pleasure 
last  week),  that 
the  art  of  din- 
ner-giving has 
made  the  most 
delightful  and 
rapid  advances. 
Sir,  I  maintain, 
even  now  with  a 
matured  age  and  appetite,  that  the  dinners  of  this  pres- 
ent day  are  better  than  those  we  had  in  our  youth,  and 
I  can't  but  be  thankful  at  least  once  in  every  day  for 
this  decided  improvement  in  our  civilization.  Those 
who  remember  the  usages  of  five-and-twenty  years  back 
will  be  ready,  I  am  sure,  to  acknowledge  this  progress. 
I  was  turning  over  at  the  Club  yesterday  a  queer  little 
book  written  at  that  period,  which,  I  believe,  had  some 
authority  at  the  time,  and  which  records  some  of  those 

79 


80  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

customs  which  obtained,  if  not  in  good  London  society, 
at  least  in  some  companies,  and  parts  of  our  islands. 
Sir,  many  of  these  practices  seem  as  antiquated  now 
as  the  usages  described  in  the  accounts  of  Homeric 
feasts,  or  Queen  Elizabeth's  banquets  and  breakfasts. 
Let  us  be  happy  to  think  they  are  gone. 

The  book  in  question  is  called  "  The  Maxims  of  Sir 
Morgan  O'Doherty,"  a  queer  baronet,  who  appears  to 
have  lived  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  centur}^  and  whose 
opinions  the  antiquarian  may  examine,  not  without 
profit — a  strange  barbarian  indeed  it  is,  and  one  won- 
ders that  such  customs  should  ever  have  been  prevalent 
in  our  country. 

Fancy  such  opinions  as  these  having  ever  been  holden 
by  any  set  of  men  among  us.  INIaxim  2. — "  It  is  laid 
down  in  fashionable  life  that  you  must  drink  Cham- 
pagne after  white  cheeses,  water  after  red.  .  .  .  Ale 
is  to  be  avoided,  in  case  a  wet  night  is  to  be  expected, 
as  should  cheese  also."  ^laxim  4.—"  A  fine  singer, 
after  dinner,  is  to  be  avoided,  for  he  is  a  great  bore, 
and  stops  the  wine.  .  .  One  of  the  best  rules  (to  put 
him  down)  is  to  applaud  him  most  vociferously  as  soon 
as  he  has  sung  the  first  verse,  as  if  all  was  over,  and  say 
to  the  gentleman  farthest  from  you  at  table  that  you 
admire  the  conclusion  of  this  song  very  much."  Maxim 
25. — "  You  meet  people  occasionally  who  tell  j^ou  it  is 
bad  taste  to  give  Champagne  at  dinner— Port  and  Ten- 
erifFe  being  such  superior  drinking,"  &c.  &c.  I  am 
copying  out  of  a  book  printed  three  months  since,  de- 
scribing ways  prevalent  when  you  were  born.  Can  it  be 
possible,  I  say,  that  England  was  ever  in  such  a  state? 

Was  it  ever  a  maxim  in  "  fashionable  life  "  that  you 
were  to  drink  champagne  after  white  cheeses?     What 


OLD   DINNER-TABLE    CUSTOMS        81 

was  that  maxim  in  fashionable  hfe  about  drinking  and 
about  cheese?  The  maxim  in  fashionable  life  is  to  drink 
what  you  will.  It  is  too  simple  now  to  trouble  itself 
about  wine  or  about  cheese.  Ale  again  is  to  be  avoided, 
this  strange  Doherty  says,  if  j^ou  expect  a  wet  night — 
and  in  another  place  he  says  "  the  English  drink  a  pint 
of  porter  at  a  draught." — What  English?  gracious  pow- 
ers !  Are  we  a  nation  of  coalheavers  ?  Do  we  ever  have 
a  wet  night?  Do  we  ever  meet  peo^^le  occasionally  who 
say  that  to  give  Champagne  at  dinner  is  bad  taste,  and 
that  Port  and  TenerifFe  are  such  superior  drinking? 
Fancy  Teneriffe,  m}"  dear  boj^ — I  saj^  fancy  a  man  ask- 
ing you  to  drink  Teneriife  at  dinner;  the  mind  shudders 
at  it — he  might  as  well  invite  you  to  swallow  the  Peak. 

And  then  consider  the  maxim  about  the  fine  singer 
who  is  to  be  avoided.  What!  was  there  a  time  in  most 
people's  memory,  when  folks  at  dessert  began  to  sing? 
I  have  heard  such  a  thing  at  a  tenants'  dinner  in  the 
country;  but  the  idea  of  a  fellow  beginning  to  perform 
a  song  at  a  dinner-party  in  London  fills  mj^  mind  with 
terror  and  amazement ;  and  I  picture  to  myself  am'^  table 
which  I  frequent,  in  INIayfair,  in  Bloomsburj^  in  Bel- 
gravia,  or  where  j^ou  will,  and  the  pain  which  would 
seize  upon  the  host  and  the  company  if  some  wretch  were 
to  commence  a  song. 

We  have  passed  that  savage  period  of  life.  We  do 
not  want  to  hear  songs  from  guests,  we  have  the  songs 
done  for  us ;  as  we  don't  want  our  ladies  to  go  down  into 
the  kitchen  and  cook  the  dinner  any  more.  The  cook 
can  do  it  better  and  cheaper.  We  do  not  desire  feats  of 
musical  or  culinary  skill — but  simple,  quiet,  easy,  un- 
pretending conversation. 

In  like  manner,  there  was  a  practice  once  usual,  and 


82  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

which  still  lingers  here  and  there,  of  making  compli- 
mentary speeches  after  dinner;  that  custom  is  happily 
almost  entirely  discontinued.  Gentlemen  do  not  meet 
to  compliment  each  other  profusely,  or  to  make  fine 
phrases.  Simplicity  gains  upon  us  daity.  Let  us  be 
thankful  that  the  florid  style  is  disappearing. 

I  once  shared  a  bottle  of  sherry  with  a  commercial 
traveller  at  INIargate  who  gave  a  toast  or  a  sentiment  as 
he  filled  every  glass.  He  would  not  take  his  wine  with- 
out this  queer  ceremony  before  it.  I  recollect  one  of  his 
sentiments,  which  was  as  follows:  "  Year  is  to  'er  that 
doubles  our  joys,  and  divides  our  sorrows— I  give  you 
woman,  sir," — and  we  both  emptied  our  glasses.  These 
lumbering  ceremonials  are  passing  out  of  our  manners, 
and  were  found  only  to  obstruct  our  free  intercourse. 
People  can  like  each  other  just  as  much  without  orations, 
and  be  just  as  merry  without  being  forced  to  drink 
against  their  will. 

And  yet  there  are  certain  customs  to  which  one  clings 
still;  for  instance,  the  practice  of  drinking  wine  with 
your  neighbour,  though  wisely  not  so  frequently  in- 
dulged in  as  of  old,  yet  still  obtains,  and  I  trust  will 
never  be  abolished.  For  though,  in  the  old  time,  when 
]Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fog}^  had  sixteen  friends  to  dinner,  it  be- 
came an  unsupportable  corvee  for  Mr.  F.  to  ask  sixteen 
persons  to  drink  wine,  and  a  painful  task  for  Mrs.  Fogy 
to  be  called  upon  to  bow  to  ten  gentlemen,  who  desired 
to  have  the  honour  to  drink  her  health,  yet,  employed  in 
moderation,  that  ancient  custom  of  challenging  your 
friends  to  drink  is  a  kindly  and  hearty  old  usage,  and 
productive  of  many  most  beneficial  results. 

I  have  known  a  man  of  a  modest  and  reserved  turn, 
(just  like  your  old  uncle,  dear  Bob,  as  no  doubt  you 


OLD   DINNER-TABLE    CUSTOMS       83 

were  going  to  remark,)  when  asked  to  drink  by  the  host, 
suddenly  hghten  up,  toss  off  his  glass,  get  confidence, 
and  begin  to  talk  right  and  left.  He  wanted  but  the 
spur  to  set  liim  going.  It  is  supplied  by  the  butler  at  the 
back  of  his  chair. 

It  sometimes  happens,  again,  that  a  host's  conversa- 
tional powers  are  not  brilliant.  I  own  that  I  could  point 
out  a  few  such  whom  I  have  the  honour  to  name  among 
my  friends — gentlemen,  in  fact,  who  wisely  hold  their 
tongues  because  they  have  nothing  to  say  which  is  worth 
the  hearing  or  the  telling,  and  properly  confine  them- 
selves to  the  carving  of  the  mutton  and  the  ordering  of 
the  wines.  Such  men,  manifestly,  should  always  be 
allowed,  nay  encouraged,  to  ask  their  guests  to  take 
wine.  In  putting  that  question,  they  show  their  good- 
will, and  cannot  possibly  betray  their  mental  deficiency. 
For  example,  let  us  suppose  Jones,  who  has  been  per- 
fectly silent  all  dinner-time,  oppressed,  doubtless,  by 
that  awful  Ladj^  Tiara,  who  sits  swelling  on  his  right 
hand,  suddenly  rallies,  singles  me  out,  and  with  a  loud 
cheering  voice  cries,  "  Brown,  my  boy,  a  glass  of  wine." 
I  reply,  "  With  pleasure,  my  dear  Jones."  He  responds 
as  quick  as  thought,  "  Shall  it  be  hock  or  champagne, 
Brown?"  I  mention  the  wine  which  I  prefer.  He  calls 
to  the  butler,  and  says,  "  Some  champagne  or  hock  " 
(as  the  case  may  be,  for  I  don't  choose  to  commit  mj''- 
self ) , — "  some  champagne  or  hock  to  Mr.  Brown;  "  and 
finally  he  says,  "Good  health!"  in  a  pleasant  tone. 
Thus  you  see,  Jones,  though  not  a  conversationist,  has 
had  the  opportunity  of  making  no  less  than  four  obser- 
vations, which,  if  not  brilliant  or  witty,  are  yet  manly, 
sensible,  and  agreeable.  And  I  defy  any  man  in  the  me- 
tropolis, be  he  the  most  accomplished,  the  most  learned. 


84  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  wisest,  or  the  most  eloquent,  to  say  more  than  Jones 
upon  a  similar  occasion. 

If  you  have  had  a  difference  with  a  man,  and  are 
desirous  to  make  it  up,  how  pleasant  it  is  to  take  wine 
with  him.  Nothing  is  said  but  that  simple  phrase  which 
has  just  been  uttered  by  my  friend  Jones;  and  yet  it 
means  a  great  deal.  The  cup  is  a  sj^mbol  of  reconcilia- 
tion. The  other  party  drinks  up  your  good-will  as  you 
accept  his  token  of  returning  friendship— and  thus  the 
liquor  is  hallowed  which  Jones  has  paid  for:  and  I  like 
to  think  that  the  grape  which  grew  by  Rhine  or  Rhone 
was  born  and  ripened  under  the  sun  there,  so  as  to  be 
the  means  of  bringing  two  good  fellows  together.  I 
once  heard  the  head  physician  of  a  Hydropathic  estab- 
lishment on  the  sunny  banks  of  the  first-named  river, 
give  the  health  of  His  JMajesty  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and,  calling  upon  the  company  to  receive  that  august 
toast  with  a  "  donnerndes  Lebehoch,"  toss  off  a  bumper 
of  sparkling  water.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  a  genuine 
enthusiasm.  No,  no,  let  us  have  toast  and  wine,  not 
toast  and  water.  It  was  not  in  vain  that  grapes  grew 
on  the  hills  of  Father  Rhine. 

One  seldom  asks  ladies  now  to  take  wine, — except 
when,  in  a  confidential  whisper  to  the  charming  crea- 
ture whom  3'ou  have  brought  down  to  dinner,  you  hum- 
bly ask  permission  to  pledge  her,  and  she  delicately 
touches  her  glass,  with  a  fascinating  smile,  in  reply  to 
your  glance, — a  smile,  j'^ou  rogue,  which  goes  to  your 
heart.  I  say,  one  does  not  ask  ladies  any  more  to  take 
wine:  and  I  think,  this  custom  being  abolished,  the  con- 
trary practice  should  be  introduced,  and  that  the  ladies 
should  ask  the  gentlemen.  I  know  one  who  did,  une 
grande  dame  de  par  le  monde,  as  honest  Brantome 


OLD   DINNER-TABLE    CUSTOMS       85 

phrases  it,  and  from  whom  I  deserved  no  such  kindness ; 
but,  sir,  the  effect  of  that  graceful  act  of  hospitahty  was 
such,  that  she  made  a  grateful  slave  for  ever  of  one 
who  was  an  admiring  rebel  previously,  who  would  do 
anything  to  show  his  gratitude,  and  who  now  knows 
no  greater  delight  than  when  he  receives  a  card  which 
bears  her  respected  name.^ 

A  dinner  of  men  is  well  now  and  again,  but  few  well- 
regulated  minds  relish  a  dinner  without  women.  There 
are  some  wretches  who,  I  believe,  still  meet  together 
for  the  sake  of  what  is  called  "  the  spread,"  who  dine 
each  other  round  and  round,  and  have  horrid  delights  in 
turtle,  early  pease,  and  other  culinary  luxuries— but  I 
pity  the  condition  as  I  avoid  the  banquets  of  those  men. 
The  only  substitute  for  ladies  at  dinners,  or  consolation 
for  want  of  them,  is— smoking.  Cigars,  introduced  with 
the  coffee,  do,  if  anj^thing  can,  make  us  forget  the  ab- 
sence of  the  other  sex.  But  what  a  substitute  is  that  for 
her  who  doubles  our  joj^s,  and  divides  our  griefs!  for 
woman!  as  my  friend  the  Traveller  said. 

1  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Brown,  this  is  too  broad  a  hint. — Punch. 


GREAT   AND   LITTLE   DINNERS 

IT  has  been  said,  dear  Bob,  that  I  have  seen  the  ma- 
hoganies of  many  men,  and  it  is  with  no  small  feel- 
ing of  pride  and  gratitude  that  I  am  enabled  to  declare 
also,  that  I  hardly  remember  in  my  life  to  have  had  a 
bad  dinner.  Would  to  heaven  that  all  mortal  men  could 
say  likewise!  Indeed,  and  in  the  presence  of  so  much 
want  and  misery  as  pass  under  our  ken  daily,  it  is  with 
a  feeling  of  something  like  shame  and  humiliation  that  I 
make  the  avowal;  but  I  have  robbed  no  man  of  his 
meal  that  I  know  of,  and  am  here  speaking  of  very  hum- 
ble as  well  as  very  grand  banquets,  the  which  I  main- 
tain are,  when  there  is  a  sufficiency,  almost  always  good. 
Yes,  all  dinners  are  good,  from  a  shilling  upwards. 
The  plate  of  boiled  beef  which  Mary,  the  neat-handed 
waitress,  brings  or  used  to  bring  you  in  the  Old  Bailey 
— I  say  used,  for,  ah  me!  I  speak  of  years  long  past, 
when  the  cheeks  of  Mary  were  as  blooming  as  the  car- 
rots which  she  brought  up  with  the  beef,  and  she  may 
be  a  grandmother  by  this  time,  or  a  pallid  ghost,  far 
out  of  the  regions  of  beef ;— from  the  shilling  dinner  of 
beef  and  carrots  to  the  grandest  banquet  of  the  season — 
everything  is  good.  There  are  no  degrees  in  eating.  I 
mean  that  mutton  is  as  good  as  venison— beefsteak,  if 
you  are  hungry,  as  good  as  turtle— bottled  ale,  if  you  like 
it,  to  the  full  as  good  as  champagne; — there  is  no  deli- 
cacy in  the  world  which  Monsieur  Francatelli  or  Mon- 
sieur Soyer  can  produce,  which  I  believe  to  be  better 

86 


GREAT  AND  LITTLE  DINNERS        87 

than  toasted  cheese.  I  have  seen  a  dozen  of  epicures  at 
a  grand  table  forsake  every  French  and  Italian  delicacy 
for  boiled  leg  of  pork  and  pease-pudding.  You  can 
but  be  hungry,  and  eat  and  be  happy. 

What  is  the  moral  I  would  deduce  from  this  truth, 
if  truth  it  be?  I  would  have  a  great  deal  more  hospi- 
tality practised  than  is  common  among  us — more  hos- 
pitality and  less  show.  Properly  considered,  the  quality 
of  dinner  is  twice  blest ;  it  blesses  him  that  gives,  and  him 
that  takes:  a  dinner  with  friendliness  is  the  best  of  all 
friendly  meetings — a  pompous  entertainment,  where  no 
love  is,  the  least  satisfactory. 

Why,  then,  do  we  of  the  middle  classes  persist  in 
giving  entertainments  so  costly,  and  beyond  our  means? 
This  will  be  read  bj^  many  mortals,  who  are  aware  that 
they  live  on  leg  of  mutton  themselves,  or  worse  than 
this,  have  what  are  called  meat  teas,  than  which  I  can- 
not conceive  a  more  odious  custom;  that  ordinarily  they 
are  very  sober  in  their  way  of  life;  that  they  like  in 
reality  that  leg  of  mutton  better  than  the  condiments 
of  that  doubtful  French  artist  who  comes  from  the  pas- 
trycook's, and  presides  over  the  mysterious  stewpans  in 
the  kitchen ;  why,  then,  on  their  company  dinners,  should 
they  flare  up  in  the  magnificent  manner  in  which  they 
universally  do? 

Everybody  has  the  same  dinner  in  London,  and  the 
same  soup,  saddle  of  mutton,  boiled  fowls  and  tongue, 
entrees,  champagne,  and  so  forth.  I  own  myself  to 
being  no  better  nor  worse  than  my  neighbours  in  this 
respect,  and  rush  off  to  the  confectioners'  for  sweets, 
&c.;  hire  sham  butlers  and  attendants;  have  a  fellow 
going  round  the  table  with  still  and  dry  champagne,  as 
if  I  knew  his  name,  and  it  was  my  custom  to  drink  those 


88  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

wines  every  day  of  my  life.  I  am  as  bad  as  my  neigh- 
bours: but  why  are  we  so  bad,  I  ask?— why  are  we  not 
more  reasonable? 

If  we  receive  very  great  men  or  ladies  at  our  houses, 
I  will  lay  a  wager  that  they  will  select  mutton  and  goose- 
berry tart  for  their  dinner:  forsaking  the  entrees  which 
the  men  in  white  Berlin  gloves  are  handing  round  in  the 
Birmingham  plated  dishes.  Asking  lords  and  ladies, 
who  have  great  establishments  of  their  own,  to  French 
dinners  and  delicacies,  is  like  inviting  a  grocer  to  a  meal 
of  figs,  or  a  pastrycook  to  a  banquet  of  raspberry  tarts. 
The}^  have  had  enough  of  them.  And  great  folks,  if 
they  like  you,  take  no  count  of  your  feasts,  and  grand 
preparations,  and  can  but  eat  mutton  like  men. 

One  cannot  have  sumptuary  laws  now-a-daj^s,  or  re- 
strict the  gastronomical  more  than  any  other  trade:  but 
I  wish  a  check  could  be  put  upon  our  dinner  extrava- 
gances by  some  means,  and  am  confident  that  the  plea- 
sures of  life  would  greatly  be  increased  by  moderation. 
A  man  might  give  two  dinners  for  one,  according  to  the 
present  pattern.  Half  your  money  is  swallowed  up  in 
a  dessert,  which  nobody  wants  in  the  least,  and  which  I 
always  grudge  to  see  arriving  at  the  end  of  plenty. 
Services  of  culinaiy  kickshaws  swallow  up  money,  and 
give  nobody  pleasure,  except  the  pastrycook,  whom 
thev  enrich.  Everybody  entertains  as  if  he  had  three  or 
four  thousand  a  year. 

Some  one  with  a  voice  potential  should  cry  out  against 
this  overwhelming  luxury.  What  is  mere  decency  in  a 
very  wealthy  man  is  absurdity — nay,  wickedness  in  a 
poor  one:  a  frog  by  nature,  I  am  an  insane,  silly  crea- 
ture, to  attempt  to  swell  myself  to  the  size  of  the  ox, 
my  neighbour.     Oh,  that  I  could  establish  in  the  mid- 


GREAT  AXD  LITTLE  DINNERS        89 

die  classes  of  London  an  Ant'i-entree  and  Anti-Dessert 
movement!  I  would  go  down  to  posterity  not  ill-deserv- 
ing of  my  country  in  such  a  case,  and  might  be  ranked 
among  the  social  benefactors.  Let  us  have  a  meeting 
at  Willis's  Rooms,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  get  a  few  philanthropists,  philosophers,  and 
bishops  or  so,  to  speak!  As  people,  in  former  days,  re- 
fused to  take  sugar,  let  us  get  up  a  societ}^  which  shall 
decline  to  eat  dessert  and  made  dishes.^ 

In  this  way,  I  say,  every  man  who  now  gives  a  dinner 
might  give  two;  and  take  in  a  host  of  poor  friends  and 
relatives,  who  are  now  excluded  from  his  hospitality. 
For  dinners  are  given  mostly  in  the  middle  classes  by 
way  of  revenge;  and  JNIr.  and  jVIrs.  Thomj^son  ask  JNIr. 
and  Mrs.  Johnson,  because  the  latter  have  asked  them. 
A  man  at  this  rate  who  gives  four  dinners  of  twenty 
persons  in  the  course  of  the  season,  each  dinner  costing 
him  something  very  near  upon  thirty  pounds,  receives 
in  return,  we  will  say,  forty  dinners  from  the  friends 
whom  he  has  himself  invited.  That  is,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Johnson  pay  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  as  do  all 
their  friends,  for  forty-four  dinners  of  which  they  par- 
take. So  that  they  may  calculate  that  every  time  they 
dine  with  their  respective  friends,  they  pay  about 
twTnty-eight  shillings  per  tete.  What  a  sum  this  is,  dear 
Johnson,  for  you  and  me  to  spend  upon  our  waistcoats! 
What  does  poor  Mrs.  Johnson  care  for  all  these  garish 
splendours,  who  has  had  her  dinner  at  two  with  her  dear 
children  in  the  nursery?  Our  custom  is  not  hospitality 
or  pleasure,  but  to  be  able  to  cut  off  a  certain  number  of 
acquaintance  from  the  dining  list. 

^  Mr.  Brown  here  enumerates  three  entrees,  which  he  confesses  he  can^iot 
resist,  and  Hkewise  preserved  cherries  at  dessert:  but  the  principle  is  good, 
though  the  man  is  weak. 


90  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

One  of  these  dinners  of  twenty,  again,  is  scarcely 
ever  pleasant  as  far  as  regards  society.  You  may  chance 
to  get  near  a  pleasant  neighbour  and  neighbouress,  when 
your  corner  of  the  table  is  possibly  comfortable.  But 
there  can  be  no  general  conversation.  Twenty  people 
cannot  engage  together  in  talk.  You  would  want  a 
speaking-trumpet  to  communicate  from  your  place  by 
the  lady  of  the  house  (for  I  wish  to  give  my  respected 
reader  the  place  of  honour)  to  the  lady  at  the  opposite 
corner  at  the  right  of  the  host.  If  you  have  a  joke  or 
a  mot  to  make,  you  cannot  utter  it  before  such  a  crowd. 
A  joke  is  nothing  which  can  only  get  a  laugh  out  of  a 
third  part  of  the  company.  The  most  eminent  wags 
of  my  acquaintance  are  dumb  in  these  great  parties ;  and 
your  raconteur  or  story-teller,  if  he  is  prudent,  will  in- 
variably hold  his  tongue.  For  what  can  be  more  odious 
than  to  be  compelled  to  tell  a  story  at  the  top  of  your 
voice,  to  be  called  on  to  repeat  it  for  the  benefit  of  a 
distant  person  who  has  only  heard  a  part  of  the  anec- 
dote? There  are  stories  of  mine  which  would  fail  ut- 
terly, were  they  narrated  in  any  but  an  undertone; 
others  in  which  I  laugh,  am  overcome  by  emotion,  and  so 
forth — what  I  call  my  intimes  stories.  Now  it  is  impos- 
sible to  do  justice  to  these  except  in  the  midst  of  a  gen- 
eral hush,  and  in  a  small  circle;  so  that  I  am  commonly 
silent.  And  as  no  anecdote  is  positively  new  in  a  party 
of  twenty,  the  chances  are  so  much  against  you  that 
somebody  should  have  heard  the  story  before,  in  which 
case  you  are  done. 

In  these  large  assemblies,  a  wit,  then,  is  of  no  use,  and 
does  not  have  a  chance:  a  raconteur  does  not  get  a  fair 
hearing,  and  both  of  these  real  ornaments  of  a  dinner- 


GREAT  AND  LITTLE  DINNERS        91 

table  are  thus  utterly  thrown  away.  I  have  seen  Jack 
JoUifFe,  who  can  keep  a  table  of  eight  or  ten  persons 
in  a  roar  of  laughter  for  four  hours,  remain  utterly 
mute  in  a  great  entertainment,  smothered  by  the  num- 
bers and  the  dowager  on  each  side  of  him:  and  Tom 
Yarnold,  the  most  eminent  of  conversationists,  sit 
through  a  dinner  as  dumb  as  the  footman  behind  him. 
They  do  not  care  to  joke,  unless  there  is  a  sympathizing 
society,  and  prefer  to  be  silent  rather  than  throw  their 
good  things  away. 

What  I  would  recommend,  then,  with  all  my  power, 
is,  that  dinners  should  be  more  simple,  more  frequent, 
and  should  contain  fewer  persons.  Ten  is  the  utmost 
number  that  a  man  of  moderate  means  should  ever  in- 
vite to  his  table;  although  in  a  great  house,  managed 
by  a  great  establishment,  the  case  may  be  different.  A 
man  and  woman  may  look  as  if  thej^  were  glad  to  see 
ten  people:  but  in  a  great  dinner  they  abdicate  their 
position  as  host  and  hostess,— are  mere  creatures  in  the 
hands  of  the  sham  butlers,  sham  footmen,  and  tall  con- 
fectioners' emissaries  who  crowd  the  room, — and  are 
guests  at  their  own  table,  where  they  are  helped  last, 
and  of  which  they  occupy  the  top  and  bottom.  I  have 
marked  many  a  lady  watching  with  timid  glances  the 
large  artificial  major-do^no,  who  officiates  for  that  night 
only,  and  thought  to  myself,  "  Ah,  my  dear  madam,  how 
much  happier  might  we  all  be  if  there  were  but  half  the 
splendour,  half  the  made  dishes,  and  half  the  company 
assembled." 

If  any  dinner-giving  person  who  reads  this  shall  be 
induced  by  my  representations  to  pause  in  his  present 
career,  to  cut  off  some  of  the  luxuries  of  his  table,  and 


92  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

instead  of  giving  one  enormous  feast  to  twenty  persons 
to  have  three  simple  dinners  for  ten,  my  dear  Nephew 
will  not  have  been  addressed  in  vain.  Everybody  will 
be  bettered;  and  while  the  guests  will  be  better  pleased, 
and  more  numerous,  the  host  will  actually  be  left  with 
money  in  his  pocket. 


ON  LOVE,   MARRIAGE,   MEN,   AND 

WOMEN 


OB    BROWN    is    in 

love,  then,  and  un- 
dergoing the  com- 
mon lot!  And  so, 
my  dear  lad,  you 
are  this  moment 
enduring  the  de- 
lights and  tortures, 
the  jealousy  and 
wakefulness,  the 
longing  and  rap- 
tures, the  frantic 
despair  and  elation, 
attendant  upon  the 
passion  of  love. 
In  the  year  1812  (it  was  before  I  contracted  my  alli- 
ance with  your  poor  dear  Aunt,  who  never  caused  me 
any  of  the  disquietudes  above  enumerated,)  I  myself 
went  through  some  of  those  miseries  and  pleasures 
which  you  now,  O  my  Nephew,  are  enduring.  I  pity 
and  sympathize  with  you.  I  am  an  old  cock  now,  with 
a  feeble  strut  and  a  faltering  crow.  But  I  was  3'oung 
once:  and  remember  the  time  very  well.  Since  that 
time,  amavi  ainantes:  if  I  see  two  young  people  happy, 

93 


94  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

I  like  it,  as  I  like  to  see  children  enjoying  a  pantomime. 
I  have  been  the  confidant  of  numbers  of  honest  fellows, 
and  the  secret  watcher  of  scores  of  little  prett}^  in- 
trigues in  life.  Miss  Y.,  I  know  why  you  go  so  eagerly 
to  balls  now,  and  ^Ir.  Z.,  what  has  set  you  off  dancing 
at  your  mature  age.  Do  you  fancy,  Mrs.  Alpha,  that 
I  believe  you  walk  every  day  at  half -past  eleven  by  the 
Serpentine  for  nothing,  and  that  I  don't  see  young 
O'Mega  in  Rotten  Row?  .  .  .  And  so,  my  poor  Bob, 
you  are  shot. 

If  you  lose  the  object  of  your  desires,  the  loss  won't 
kill  you;  you  may  set  that  down  as  a  certainty.  If  you 
win,  it  is  possible  that  you  will  be  disappointed;  that 
point  also  is  to  be  considered.  But  hit  or  miss,  good 
luck  or  bad— I  should  be  sorry,  my  honest  Bob,  that 
thou  didst  not  undergo  the  malady.  Every  man  ought 
to  be  in  love  a  few  times  in  his  life,  and  to  have  a  smart 
attack  of  the  fever.  You  are  the  better  for  it  when  it 
is  over:  the  better  for  your  misfortune  if  you  endure  it 
with  a  manly  heart;  how  much  the  better  for  success  if 
you  win  it  and  a  good  wife  into  the  bargain !  Ah!  Bob- 
there  is  a  stone  in  the  burying-ground  at  Funchal  which 
I  often  and  often  think  of— many  hopes  and  passions 
lie  beneath  it,  along  with  the  fairest  and  gentlest  crea- 
ture in  the  world— it's  not  Mrs.  Brown  that  lies  there. 
After  life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  in  INIarylebone  bury- 
ing-ground, poor  dear  soul!  Emily  Blenkinsop  might 
have  been  !Mrs.  Brown,  but— but  let  us  change  the  sub- 
ject. 

Of  course  you  will  take  advice,  my  dear  Bob,  about 
your  flame.  All  men  and  women  do.  It  is  notorious 
that  they  listen  to  the  opinions  of  all  their  friends,  and 
never  follow  their  own  counsel.    Well,  tell  us  about  this 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEN,  AND  WOMEN  95 

girl.  What  are  her  quahfications,  expectations,  belong- 
ings, station  in  life,  and  so  forth? 

About  beauty  I  do  not  argue.  I  take  it  for  granted. 
A  man  sees  beauty,  or  that  which  he  likes,  with  eyes  en- 
tirely his  own.  I  don't  say  that  plain  women  get  hus- 
bands as  readily  as  the  pretty  girls— but  so  manj^  hand- 
some girls  are  unmarried,  and  so  many  of  the  other  sort 
w^edded,  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  establishing  a  rule, 
or  of  setting  up  a  standard.  Poor  dear  Mrs.  Brown 
was  a  far  finer  W'Oman  than  Emily  Blenkinsop,  and  yet 
I  loved  Emily's  little  finger  more  than  the  whole  hand 
which  your  Aunt  INIartha  gave  me— I  see  the  plainest 
women  exercising  the  greatest  fascinations  over  men — 
in  fine,  a  man  falls  in  love  with  a  woman  because  it  is 
fate,  because  she  is  a  woman;  Bob,  too,  is  a  man,  and 
endowed  with  a  heart  and  a  beard. 

Is  she  a  clever  woman?  I  do  not  mean  to  disparage 
you,  my  good  fellow,  but  you  are  not  a  man  that  is 
likely  to  set  the  Thames  on  fire ;  and  I  should  rather  like 
to  see  you  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  clever  w^oman.  A  set 
has  been  made  against  clever  women  in  all  times.  Take 
all  Shakspeare's  heroines— they  all  seem  to  me  pretty 
much  the  same — affectionate,  motherly,  tender,  that 
sort  of  thing.  Take  Scott's  ladies,  and  other  writers' — 
each  man  seems  to  draw  from  one  model — an  exquisite 
slave  is  what  we  want  for  the  most  part ;  a  humble,  flat- 
tering, smiling,  child-loving,  tea-making,  pianoforte- 
playing  being,  w'ho  laughs  at  our  jokes,  however  old 
thev  may  be,  coaxes  and  w^heedles  us  in  our  humours, 
and  fondly  lies  to  us  through  life.  I  never  could  get 
your  poor  Aunt  into  this  system,  though  I  confess  I 
should  have  been  a  happier  man  had  she  tried  it. 

There  are  many  more  clever  w^omen  in  the  world  than 


96  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

men  think  for.  Our  habit  is  to  despise  them ;  we  believe 
they  do  not  think  because  they  do  not  contradict  us ;  and 
are  weak  because  they  do  not  struggle  and  rise  up 
against  us.  A  man  only  begins  to  know  women  as  he 
grows  old;  and  for  mj^  part  my  opinion  of  their  clever- 
ness rises  every  day. 

When  I  say  I  know  women,  I  mean  I  know  that  I 
don't  know  them.  Every  single  woman  I  ever  knew 
is  a  puzzle  to  me,  as  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  to  herself. 
Say  they  are  not  clever?  Their  hypocrisy  is  a  perpetual 
marvel  to  me,  and  a  constant  exercise  of  cleverness  of 
the  finest  sort.  You  see  a  demure-looking  woman  per- 
fect in  all  her  duties,  constant  in  house-bills  and  shirt- 
buttons,  obedient  to  her  lord,  and  anxious  to  please  him 
in  all  things ;  silent  when  you  and  he  talk  politics,  or  lit- 
erature, or  balderdash  together,  and  if  referred  to,  say- 
ing, with  a  smile  of  perfect  humility,  "  Oh,  women  are 
not  judges  upon  such  and  such  matters;  we  leave  learn- 
ing and  politics  to  men."  "  Yes,  poor  Polly,"  says 
Jones,  patting  the  back  of  jNIrs.  J.'s  head  good-na- 
turedly, "  attend  to  the  house,  my  dear;  that's  the  best 
thing  you  can  do,  and  leave  the  rest  to  us."  Benighted 
idiot!  She  has  long  ago  taken  your  measure  and  your 
friends';  she  knows  your  weaknesses,  and  ministers  to 
them  in  a  thousand  artful  w^ays.  She  knows  your  ob- 
stinate points,  and  marches  round  them  with  the  most 
curious  art  and  patience,  as  3^ou  will  see  an  ant  on  a 
journey  turn  round  an  obstacle.  Every  woman  man- 
ages her  husband:  every  person  who  manages  another 
is  a  hypocrite.  Her  smiles,  her  submission,  her  good-hu- 
mour, for  all  which  w^e  value  her,— what  are  they  but 
admirable  duplicity?  We  expect  falseness  from  her, 
and  order  and  educate  her  to  be  dishonest.     Should  he 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEX,  AXD  WOMEN  97 

ui^braid,  I'll  own  that  he  prevail;  say  that  he  frown,  I'll 
answer  with  a  smile; — what  are  these  but  lies,  that  we 
exact  from  our  slaves? — lies,  the  dexterous  perform- 
ance of  which  we  announce  to  be  the  female  virtues: 
brutal  Turks  that  we  are!  I  do  not  saj^  that  ISIrs. 
Browii  ever  obej^ed  me — on  the  contrary:  but  I  should 
have  liked  it,  for  I  am  a  Turk  like  my  neighbour. 

I  will  instance  your  mother  now.  When  my  brother 
comes  in  to  dinner  after  a  bad  da3^'s  sport,  or  after  look- 
ing over  the  bills  of  some  of  you  boys,  he  naturally  be- 
gins to  be  surly  with  your  poor  dear  mother,  and  to 
growl  at  the  mutton.  What  does  she  do?  She  may  be 
hurt,  but  she  doesn't  show  it.  She  proceeds  to  coax,  to 
smile,  to  turn  the  conversation,  to  stroke  down  Bruin, 
and  get  him  in  a  good-humour.  She  sets  him  on  his  old 
stories,  and  she  and  all  the  girls — poor  dear  little 
Sapphiras! — set  off  laughing;  there  is  that  story  about 
the  Goose  walking  into  church,  which  your  father  tells, 
and  your  mother  and  sisters  laugh  at,  until  I  protest 
I  am  so  ashamed  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  look.  On 
he  goes  with  that  story  time  after  time:  and  your  poor 
mother  sits  there  and  knows  that  I  know  she  is  a  hum- 
bug, and  laughs  on;  and  teaches  all  the  girls  to  laugh 
too.  Had  that  dear  creature  been  born  to  wear  a  nose- 
ring and  bangles  instead  of  a  muff  and  bonnet;  and 
had  she  a  brown  skin  in  the  place  of  that  fair  one  ^\'itli 
which  Nature  has  endowed  her,  she  would  have  done 
Suttee,  after  your  brown  Brahmin  father  had  died,  and 
thought  women  very  irreligious  too,  who  refused  to  roast 
themselves  for  their  masters  and  lords.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  the  late  INIrs.  Brown  would  have  gone 
through  the  process  of  incremation  for  me — far  from 
it:  by  a  timely  removal  she  was  spared  from  the  grief 


98  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

which  her  widowhood  would  have  doubtless  caused  her, 
and  I  acquiesce  in  the  decrees  of  Fate  in  this  instance, 
and  have  not  the  least  desire  to  have  preceded  her. 

I  hope  the  ladies  will  not  take  my  remarks  in  ill  part. 
If  I  die  for  it,  I  must  own  that  I  don't  think  they  have 
fair  play.  In  the  bargain  we  make  with  them  I  don't 
think  they  get  their  rights.  And  as  a  labourer  notori- 
ously does  more  by  the  piece  than  he  does  by  the  day, 
and  a  free  man  works  harder  than  a  slave,  so  I  doubt 
whether  we  get  the  most  out  of  our  women  by  enslav- 
ing them  as  we  do  by  law  and  custom.  There  are  some 
folks  who  would  limit  the  range  of  women's  duties  to 
little  more  than  a  kitchen  range — others  who  like  them 
to  administer  to  our  delectation  in  a  ball-room,  and 
permit  them  to  display  dimpled  shoulders  and  flowing 
ringlets — just  as  you  have  one  horse  for  a  mill,  and  an- 
other for  the  Park.  But  in  whatever  way  we  like  them, 
it  is  for  our  use  somehow  that  we  have  women  brought 
up ;  to  work  for  us,  or  to  shine  for  us,  or  to  dance  for  us, 
or  what  not?  It  would  not  have  been  thought  shame  of 
our  fathers  fifty  years  ago,  that  they  could  not  make  a 
custard  or  a  pie,  but  our  mothers  would  hav^e  been  re- 
buked had  they  been  ignorant  on  these  matters.  Why 
should  not  you  and  I  be  ashamed  now  because  we  can- 
not make  our  own  shoes,  or  cut  out  our  own  breeches? 
We  know  better:  we  can  get  cobblers  and  tailors  to  do 
that — and  it  was  we  who  made  the  laws  for  women,  who, 
we  are  in  the  habit  of  saying,  are  not  so  clever  as  we  are. 

My  dear  Nephew,  as  I  grow  old  and  consider  these 
things,  I  know  which  are  the  stronger,  men  or  women; 
but  which  are  the  cleverer,  I  doubt. 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEN,  AND  WOMEN  99 


II 


ONG  years  ago,  in- 
deed it  was  at  the 
Peace  of  Amiens, 
when  with  several 
other  young  bucks  I 
was  making  the 
grand  tour,  I  recol- 
lect how  sweet  we 
all  of  us  were  upon 
the  lovely  Duchess 
of  Montepulciano 
at  Naples,  who,  to 
be  sure,  was  not  nig- 
gardly of  her  smiles 
in  return.  There  came  a  man  amongst  us,  however, 
from  London,  a  very  handsome  young  fellow,  with  such 
an  air  of  fascinating  melancholy  in  his  looks,  that  he 
cut  out  all  the  other  suitors  of  the  Duchess  in  the  course 
of  a  week,  and  would  have  married  her  very  likely,  but 
that  war  was  declared  while  this  youth  was  still  hanker- 
ing about  his  Princess,  and  he  was  sent  off  to  Verdun, 
whence  he  did  not  emerge  for  twelve  years,  and  until  he 
was  as  fat  as  a  porpoise,  and  the  Duchess  was  long 
since  married  to  General  Count  Raff,  one  of  the  Em- 
peror's heroes. 

I  mention  poor  Tibbits  to  show  the  curious  differ- 
ence of  manner  which  exists  among  us;  and  which, 
though  not  visible  to  foreigners,  is  instantly  understood 
by  EngHsh  people.    Brave,  clever,  tall,  slim,  dark,  and 


100  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

sentimental-looking,  he  passed  muster  in  a  foreign 
saloon,  and  as  I  must  own  to  you,  cut  us  fellows  out: 
whereas  we  English  knew  instantly  that  the  man  was 
not  well  bred,  by  a  thousand  little  signs,  not  to  be  un- 
derstood by  the  foreigner.  In  his  early  youth,  for  in- 
stance, he  had  been  cruelly  deprived  of  his  h's  by  his 
parents,  and  though  he  tried  to  replace  them  in  after 
life,  they  were  no  more  natural  than  a  glass-eye,  but 
stared  at  you  as  it  were  in  a  ghastly  manner  out  of  the 
conversation,  and  pained  you  bj^  their  horrid  intrusions. 
Not  acquainted  with  these  refinements  of  our  language, 
foreigners  did  not  understand  what  Tibbits'  errors  were, 
and  doubtless  thought  it  was  from  envy  that  we  con- 
spired to  slight  the  poor  fellow. 

I  mention  Mr.  Tibbits,  because  he  was  handsome, 
clever,  honest,  and  brave,  and  in  almost  all  respects  our 
superior ;  and  yet  laboured  under  disadvantages  of  man- 
ner which  unfitted  him  for  certain  society.  It  is  not 
Tibbits  the  man,  it  is  not  Tibbits  the  citizen,  of  whom 
I  would  wish  to  speak  lightly;  his  morals,  his  reading, 
his  courage,  his  generosity,  his  talents  are  undoubted — 
it  is  the  social  Tibbits  of  whom  I  speak:  and  as  I  do 
not  go  to  balls,  because  I  do  not  dance,  or  to  meetings 
of  the  Political  Economj^  Club,  or  other  learned  asso- 
ciations, because  taste  and  education  have  not  fitted 
me  for  the  pursuits  for  which  other  persons  are  adapted, 
so  Tibbits'  sphere  is  not  in  drawing-rooms,  where  the 
li,  and  other  points  of  etiquette,  are  rigorously  main- 
tained. 

I  say  thus  much  because  one  or  two  people  have  taken 
some  remarks  of  mine  in  ill  part,  and  hinted  that  I  am  a 
Tory  in  disguise :  and  an  aristocrat  that  should  be  hung 
up  to  a  lamp-post.     Not  so,  dear  Bob;— there  is  no- 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEN,  AND  WOMEN  101 

thing  like  the  truth,  about  whomsoever  it  may  be.  I 
mean  no  more  disrespect  towards  any  fellow-man  by 
saying  that  he  is  not  what  is  called  in  Society  well  bred, 
than  by  stating  that  he  is  not  tall  or  short,  oi'  that  he 
cannot  dance,  or  that  he  does  not  know  Hebrew,  or 
whatever  the  case  may  be.  I  mean  that  if  a  man  works 
with  a  pickaxe  or  shovel  all  day,  his  hands  will  be  harder 
than  those  of  a  lady  of  fashion,  and  that  his  opinion 
about  Madame  Sontag's  singing,  or  the  last  new  novel, 
will  not  probably  be  of  much  value.  And  though  I  own 
my  conviction  that  there  are  some  animals  which  frisk 
advantageously  in  ladies'  drawing-rooms,  whilst  others 
pull  stoutly  at  the  plough,  I  do  not  most  certainly  mean 
to  reflect  upon  a  horse  for  not  being  a  lap-dog,  or  see 
that  he  has  any  cause  to  be  ashamed  that  he  is  other  than 
a  horse. 

And,  in  a  word,  as  j^ou  are  what  is  called  a  gentleman 
yourself,  I  hope  that  ]Mrs.  Bob  Brown,  whoever  she 
may  be,  is  not  only  by  nature,  but  by  education,  a  gen- 
tlewoman. No  man  ought  ever  to  be  called  upon  to 
blush  for  his  wife.  I  see  good  men  rush  into  marriage 
with  ladies  of  whom  they  are  afterwards  ashamed;  and 
in  the  same  manner  charming  women  linked  to  partners, 
whose  vulgarity  they  try  to  screen.  Poor  Mrs.  Botibol, 
what  a  constant  hypocrisy  your  life  is,  and  how  you 
insist  upon  informing  ever5^body  that  Botibol  is  the  best 
of  men!  Poor  Jack  Jinkins!  what  a  female  is  that  you 
brought  back  from  Bagnigge  Wells  to  introduce  to 
London  society!  a  handsome,  tawdry,  flaunting,  water- 
ing-place belle;  a  boarding-house  beauty:  tremendous 
in  brazen  ornaments  and  cheap  finery. 

If  you  marry,  dear  Bob,  I  hope  INIrs.  Robert  B.  will 
be  a  lady  not  very  much  above  or  below  your  own  station. 


102  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

I  would  sooner  that  you  should  promote  your  wife 
than  that  she  should  advance  you.  And  though  every 
man  can  point  you  out  instances  where  his  friends  have 
been  married  to  ladies  of  superior  rank,  who  have  ac- 
cepted their  new  position  with  perfect  grace,  and  made 
their  husbands  entirely  happy;  as  there  are  examples 
of  maid-servants  decorating  coronets,  and  sempstresses 
presiding  worthily  over  Baronial  Halls;  yet  I  hope  Mrs. 
Robert  Brown  will  not  come  out  of  a  palace  or  a  kitchen : 
but  out  of  a  house  something  like  yours,  out  of  a  family 
something  like  yours,  with  a  snug  jointure  something 
hke  that  modest  portion  which  I  dare  say  you  will 
inherit. 

I  remember  when  Arthur  Rowdy  (who  I  need  not 
tell  you  belongs  to  the  firm  of  Stumpy,  Rowdy  &  Co., 
of  Lombard  Street,  Bankers,)  married  Lady  Cleo- 
patra ;  what  a  grand  match  it  was  thought  by  the  Rowdy 
f amity:  and  how  old  Mrs.  Rowdy  in  Portman  Square 
was  elated  at  the  idea  of  her  son's  new  connection.  Her 
daughters  were  to  go  to  all  the  parties  in  London;  and 
her  house  was  to  be  filled  with  the  very  greatest  of  great 
folks.  We  heard  of  nothing  but  dear  Lady  Stone- 
henge  from  morning  till  night;  and  old  frequent- 
ers of  the  house  were  perfectly  pestered  with  stories 
of  dear  Ladj^  Zenobia  and  dear  Lady  Cornelia,  and 
of  the  dear  Marquis,  whose  masterly  translation  of 
Cornelius  Nepos  had  placed  him  among  the  most 
learned  of  our  nobility. 

When  Rowdy  went  to  live  in  ISIaj^fair,  what  a 
wretched  house  it  was  into  which  he  introduced  such  of 
his  friends  as  were  thought  worthy  of  presentation  to 
his  new  society!  The  rooms  were  filled  with  3^oung 
dandies  of  the  Stonehenge  connection— beardless  bucks 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  INIEX,  AND  WOMEN  103 

from  Downing  Street,  gay  young  sprigs  of  the  Guards 
— their  sisters  and  mothers,  their  kith  and  kin.  They 
overdrew  their  accounts  at  Rowdy's  Bank,  and  laughed 
at  him  in  his  drawing-room;  they  made  their  bets  and 
talked  their  dandy  talk  over  his  claret,  at  which  the  jDOor 
fellow  sat  quite  silent.  Lady  Stonehenge  invaded  his 
nursery,  appointed  and  cashiered  his  governess  and 
children's  maids;  established  her  apothecary  in  perma- 
nence over  him:  quarrelled  with  old  Mrs.  Rowdj^  so 
that  the  poor  old  body  was  only  allowed  to  see  her 
grandchildren  by  stealth,  and  have  secret  interviews  with 
them  in  the  garden  of  Berkeley  Square;  made  Rowdy 
take  villas  at  Tunbridge,  which  she  filled  with  her 
own  family;  massacred  her  daughter's  visiting-book,  in 
which  Lady  Cleopatra,  a  good-natured  woman,  at  first 
admitted  some  of  her  husband's  relatives  and  acquain- 
tance ;  and  carried  him  abroad  upon  excursions,  in  which 
all  he  had  to  do  was  to  settle  the  bills  with  the  courier. 
And  she  went  so  far  as  to  order  him  to  change  his  side 
of  the  House  and  his  politics,  and  adopt  those  of  Lord 
Stonehenge,  which  were  of  the  age  of  the  Druids,  his 
lordship's  ancestors;  but  here  the  honest  British  mer- 
chant made  a  stand  and  conquered  his  mother-in-law, 
who  would  have  smothered  him  the  other  day  for  voting 
for  Rothschild.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Counting  House 
in  the  morning  and  the  House  of  Commons  at  night, 
what  w^ould  become  of  Rowdy?  They  say  he  smokes 
there,  and  drinks  when  he  smokes.  He  has  been  known 
to  go  to  Vauxhall,  and  has  even  been  seen,  with  a  com- 
forter over  his  nose,  listening  to  Sam  Hall  at  the  Cider 
Cellars.  All  this  misery  and  misfortune  came  to  the 
poor  fellow  for  marrying  out  of  his  degree.  The  clerks 
at  Lombard  Street  laugh  when  Lord  INIistletoe  steps  out 


104  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

of  his  cab  and  walks  into  the  bank-parlour ;  and  Rowdy's 
private  account  invariably  tells  tales  of  the  visit  of  his 
young  scapegrace  of  a  brother-in-law. 


Ill 


fe.  ^,  z--'  l^x  ET  us  now,  beloved  and  ingenuous  youth, 
^'''  "  take  the  other  side  of  the  question, 

and  discourse  a  little  while  upon  the 
state  of  that  man  who  takes  unto 
himself  a  wife  inferior  to  him  in 
degree.  I  have  before  me  in  my 
acquaintance  many  most  pitiable  in- 
stances of  individuals  who  have 
made  this  fatal  mistake. 

Although  old  fellows  are  as 
likely  to  be  made  fools  as  young 
in  love  matters,  and  Dan  Cupid  has 
no  respect  for  the  most  venerable 
age,  yet  I  remark  that  it  is  gener- 
ally the  young  men  who  marry  vulgar  wives.  They  are 
on  a  reading  tour  for  the  Long  Vacation,  they  are  quar- 
tered at  Ballinafad,  they  see  Miss  Smith  or  Miss 
O'Shaughnessy  every  day,  healthy,  lively,  jolly  girls 
with  red  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  high  spirits — they  come 
away  at  the  end  of  the  vacation,  or  when  the  regiment 
changes  its  quarters,  engaged  men,  family  rows  ensue, 
mothers  cry  out,  papas  grumble,  Miss  pines  and  loses 
her  health  at  Baymouth  or  Ballinafad — consent  is  got 
at  last,  Jones  takes  his  degree,  Jenkins  gets  his  com- 
pany;  Miss  Smith  and  Miss  O'Shaughnessy  become  Mrs. 
Jones  and  Mrs.  Jenkins. 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEN,  AND  WOMEN  105 

For  the  first  year  it  is  all  very  well.  Mrs.  Jones  is  a 
great  bouncing  handsome  creature,  lavishly  fond  of  her 
adored  Jones,  and  caring  for  no  other  company  but  his. 
They  have  a  cottage  at  Bayswater.  He  walks  her  out 
every  evening.  He  sits  and  reads  the  last  new  novel  to 
her  whilst  she  works  slippers  for  him,  or  makes  some 
little  tiny  caps,  and— dear  Juha,  dear  Edward!— they 
are  all  in  all  to  one  another. 

Old  Mrs.  Smith  of  course  comes  up  from  Sw^ansea  at 
the  time  when  the  little  caps  are  put  into  requisition,  and 
takes  possession  of  the  cottage  at  Bayswater.  Mrs.  Jones 
Senior  calls  upon  ]Mrs.  Edward  Jones's  mamma,  and,  of 
course,  is  desirous  to  do  everything  that  is  civil  to  the 
family  of  Edward's  wife. 

Mrs.  Jones  finds  in  the  mother-in-law  of  her  Edward 
a  large  woman  with  a  cotton  umbrella,  who  dines  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  and  has  her  beer,  and  who  calls  Mrs. 
Jones  JNIum.  What  a  state  they  are  in  in  Pocklington 
Square  about  this  woman!  How  can  they  be  civil  to 
her?  Whom  can  they  ask  to  meet  her?  How  the  girls, 
Edward's  sisters,  go  on  about  her!  Fanny  says  she 
ought  to  be  shown  to  the  housekeeper's  room  when  she 
calls;  Mary  proposes  that  Mrs.  Shay,  the  washerwoman, 
should  be  invited  on  the  day  when  Mrs.  Smith  comes  to 
dinner;  and  Emma  (who  was  Edward's  favourite  sister, 
and  who  considers  herself  jilted  by  his  marriage  with 
Julia,)  points  out  the  most  dreadful  thing  of  all,  that 
Mrs.  Smith  and  Julia  are  exactly  alike,  and  that  in  a  few 
years  Mrs.  Edward  Jones  will  be  the  very  image  of  that 
great  enormous  unwieldy  horrid  old  woman. 

Closeted  with  her  daughter,  of  whom  and  of  her  baby 
she  has  taken  possession,  Mrs.  Smith  gives  her  opinion 
about  the  Joneses: — They  may  be  very  good,  but  they 


106  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

are  too  fine  ladies  for  her;  and  they  evidently  think  she 
is  not  good  enough  for  them;  they  are  sad  worldly  peo- 
ple, and  have  never  sat  under  a  good  minister,  that  is 
clear ;  they  talked  French  before  her  on  the  day  she  called 
in  Pocklington  Gardens,  "  and  though  they  were  laugh- 
ing at  me,  I'm  sure  I  can  pardon  them,"  Mrs.  Smith 
says.  Edward  and  Julia  have  a  little  altercation  about 
the  manner  in  which  his  family  has  treated  JNIrs.  Smith, 
and  Julia,  bursting  into  tears  as  she  clasps  her  child  to 
her  bosom,  says,  "  My  child,  my  child,  will  you  be  taught 
to  be  ashamed  of  your  mother !  " 

Edward  flings  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage.  It  is  true 
that  Mrs.  Smith  is  not  fit  to  associate  with  his  family, 
and  that  her  manners  are  not  like  theirs;  that  Julia's 
eldest  brother,  who  is  a  serious  tanner  at  Cardiff,  is  not 
a  pleasant  companion  after  dinner;  and  that  it  is  not 
agreeable  to  be  called  "  Ned  "  and  "  Old  Cove  "  by  her 
younger  brother,  who  is  an  attorney's  clerk  in  Gray's 
Inn,  and  favours  Ned  by  asking  him  to  lend  him  a 
*'  Sov.,"  and  by  coming  to  dinner  on  Sundays.  It  is  true 
that  the  appearance  of  that  youth  at  the  first  little  party 
the  Edward  Joneses  gave  after  their  marriage,  when 
Natty  disgracefully^  inebriated  himself,  caused  no  little 
scandal  amongst  his  friends,  and  much  wrath  on  the  part 
of  old  Jones,  who  said,  "  That  little  scamp  call  my 
daughters  by  their  Christian  names! — a  little  beggar 
that  is  not  fit  to  sit  down  in  my  hall.  If  ever  he  dares 
to  call  at  my  house  I'll  tell  Jobbins  to  fling  a  pail  of 
water  over  him."  And  it  is  true  that  Natt}^  called  many 
times  in  Pocklington  Square,  and  complained  to  Ed- 
ward that  he,  Nat,  could  neither  see  his  Mar  nor  the 
Gurls,  and  that  the  old  gent  cut  up  uncommon  stiffs. 

So  you  see  Edward  Jones  has  had  his  way,  and  got  a 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEN,  AND  WOMEN  107 

handsome  wife,  but  at  what  expense?  He  and  his  fam- 
ily are  separated.  His  wife  brought  him  nothing  but 
good  looks.  Her  stock  of  brains  is  small.  She  is  not 
easy  in  the  new  society  into  which  she  has  been  brought, 
and  sits  quite  mum  both  at  the  grand  parties  which  the 
old  Joneses  give  in  Pocklington  Square,  and  at  the  snug 
little  entertainments  which  poor  Edward  Jones  tries  on 
his  own  part.  The  women  of  the  Jones'  set  try  her  in 
every  way,  and  can  get  no  good  from  her ;  Jones's  male 
friends,  who  are  civilized  beings,  talk  to  her,  and  receive 
only  monosyllables  in  reply.  His  house  is  a  stupid 
one;  his  acquaintances  drop  off;  he  has  no  circle  at  all 
at  last,  except,  to  be  sure,  that  increasing  family  circle 
which  brings  up  old  INIrs.  Smith  from  Swansea  every 
year. 

What  is  the  lot  of  a  man  at  the  end  of  a  dozen  years 
who  has  a  wife  like  this?  She  is  handsome  no  longer, 
and  she  never  had  any  other  merit.  He  can't  read  novels 
to  her  all  through  his  life,  while  she  is  working  slippers 
—it  is  absurd.  He  can't  be  philandering  in  Kensington 
Gardens  with  a  lady  who  does  not  walk  out  now  except 
with  two  nursemaids  and  the  twins  in  a  go-cart.  He  is 
a  young  man  still,  when  she  is  an  old  woman.  Love  is  a 
mighty  fine  thing,  dear  Bob,  but  it  is  not  the  life  of  a  man. 
There  are  a  thousand  other  things  for  him  to  think  of 
besides  the  red  lips  of  Lucy,  or  the  bright  eyes  of  Eliza. 
There  is  business,  there  is  friendship,  there  is  society, 
there  are  taxes,  there  is  ambition,  and  the  manly  desire 
to  exercise  the  talents  which  are  given  us  by  heaven,  and 
reap  the  prize  of  our  desert.  There  are  other  books  in 
a  man's  library  besides  Ovid;  and  after  dawdling  ever 
so  long  at  a  woman's  knee,  one  day  he  gets  up  and  is 
free.    We  have  all  been  there:  we  have  all  had  the  fever: 


108  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  strongest  and  the  smallest,  from  Samson,  Hercules, 
Rinaldo,  downwards;  but  it  burns  out,  and  you  get 
well. 

Ladies  who  read  this,  and  who  know  what  a  love  I 
have  for  the  whole  sex,  will  not,  I  hope,  cry  out  at  the 
above  observations,  or  be  angry  because  I  state  that  the 
ardour  of  love  declines  after  a  certain  period.  My  dear 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  you  would  not  have  Hopkins  to  carry 
on  the  same  absurd  behaviour  which  he  exhibited  when 
he  was  courting  you?  or  in  place  of  going  to  bed  and  to 
sleep  comfortably,  sitting  up  half  the  night  to  write  to 
you  bad  verses?  You  would  not  have  him  racked  with 
jealousy  if  you  danced  or  spoke  with  any  one  else  at  a 
ball;  or  neglect  all  his  friends,  his  business,  his  interest 
in  life,  in  order  to  dangle  at  your  feet?  No,  you  are  a 
sensible  woman ;  you  know  that  he  must  go  to  his  count- 
ing-house, that  he  must  receive  and  visit  his  friends,  and 
that  he  must  attend  to  his  and  your  interest  in  life.  You 
are  no  longer  his  goddess,  his  fairy,  his  peerless  paragon, 
whose  name  he  shouted  as  Don  QiiLvote  did  that  of  Dul- 
cinea.  You  are  Jane  Hopkins,  you  are  thirty  years  old, 
you  have  got  a  parcel  of  children,  and  Hop  loves  you 
and  them  with  all  his  heart.  He  would  be  a  helpless 
driveller  and  ninny  were  he  to  be  honeymooning  still, 
whereas  he  is  a  good  honest  fellow,  respected  on  'Change, 
liked  by  his  friends,  and  famous  for  his  port-wine. 

Yes,  Bob,  the  fever  goes,  but  the  wife  doesn't.  Long 
after  your  passion  is  over,  INIrs.  Brown  will  be  at  your 
side,  good  soul,  still;  and  it  is  for  that,  as  I  trust,  long 
subsequent  period  of  my  worthy  Bob's  life,  that  I  am 
anxious.  How  will  she  look  when  the  fairy  brilliancy 
of  the  honeymoon  has  faded  into  the  light  of  common 
day? 


LOVE,  MARRIAGE,  MEX,  AND  WOMEN  100 

You  are  of  a  jovial  and  social  turn,  and  like  to  see  the 
world,  as  why  should  you  not?  It  contains  a  great  num- 
ber of  kind  and  honest  folks,  from  whom  you  may  hear 
a  thousand  things  wise  and  pleasant.  A  man  ought  to 
like  his  neighbours,  to  mix  with  his  neighbours,  to  be  pop- 
ular with  his  neighbours.  It  is  a  friendly  heart  that  has 
plenty  of  friends.  You  can't  be  talking  to  i\Irs.  Brown 
for  ever  and  ever:  you  will  be  a  couple  of  old  geese  if 
you  do. 

She  ought  then  to  be  able  to  make  your  house  pleasant 
to  your  friends.  She  ought  to  attract  them  to  it  by  her 
grace,  her  good  breeding,  her  good  humour.  Let  it  be 
said  of  her,  "  What  an  uncommonly  nice  woman  Mrs. 
Brown  is!  "  Let  her  be,  if  not  a  clever  woman,  an  ap- 
preciator  of  cleverness  in  others,  which,  perhaps,  clever 
folks  like  better.  Above  all,  let  her  have  a  sense  of 
humour,  my  dear  Bob,  for  a  woman  without  a  laugh  in 
her  (like  the  late  excellent  jMrs.  Brown)  is  the  greatest 
bore  in  existence.  Life  without  laughing  is  a  dreary 
blank.  A  woman  who  cannot  laugh  is  a  wet  blanket  on 
the  kindly  nuptial  couch.  A  good  laugh  is  sunshine  in 
a  house.  A  quick  intelligence,  a  brightening  eye,  a  kind 
smile,  a  cheerful  spirit,— these,  I  hope,  ^Irs.  Bob  will 
bring  to  you  in  her  trousseau^  to  be  used  afterwards  for 
daily  wear.  Before  all  things,  my  dear  Nephew,  try  and 
have  a  cheerful  wife. 

What,  indeed,  does  not  that  word  "  cheerfulness  "  im- 
ply? It  means  a  contented  spirit,  it  means  a  pure  heart, 
it  means  a  kind  and  loving  disposition ;  it  means  humility 
and  charity;  it  means  a  generous  appreciation  of  others, 
and  a  modest  opinion  of  self.  Stupid  people,  people 
who  do  not  know  how  to  laugh,  are  always  pompous  and 
self -conceited ;  that  is,  bigoted;  that  is,  cruel;  that  is,  un- 


110  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

gentle,  uncharitable,  unchristian.  Have  a  good,  jolly, 
laughing,  kind  woman,  then,  for  your  partner,  you  who 
are  yourself  a  kind  and  jolly  fellow;  and  when  you 
go  to  sleep,  and  when  you  wake,  I  pray  there  may  be  a 
smile  under  each  of  your  honest  nightcaps. 


OUT  OF  TOWN 


yy  HAVE  little  news,  my  dear  Bob, 
wherewith  to  entertain  thee  from 
this  city,  from  which  almost  ev- 
erybody has  fled  within  the  last 
week,  and  which  lies  in  a  state  of 
torpor.  I  wonder  what  the  news- 
papers find  to  talk  about  day 
after  day,  and  how  they  come  out 
every  morning.  But  for  a  little 
distant  noise  of  cannonading 
from  the  Danube  and  the  Theiss, 
the  whole  world  is  silent,  and 
London  seems  to  have  hauled 
down  her  flag,  as  her  IMajesty  has 
done  at  Pimlico,  and  the  Queen 
of  cities  has  gone  out  of  town. 
You,  in  pursuit  of  Miss  Kicklebury,  are  probably  by 
this  time  at  Spa  or  Homburg.  Watch  her  well,  Bob, 
and  see  what  her  temper  is  like.  See  whether  she  flirts 
with  the  foreigners  much,  examine  how  she  looks  of  a 
morning  (you  will  have  a  hundred  opportunities  of  fa- 
miliarity, and  can  drop  in  and  out  of  a  friend's  apart- 
ments at  a  German  watering-place  as  you  never  can 
hope  to  do  here),  examine  her  conduct  with  her  little 
sisters,  if  they  are  of  the  party,  M'hether  she  is  good  and 

111 


112  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

playful  with  them,  see  whether  she  is  cheerful  and  obedi- 
ent to  old  Lady  Kick  (I  acknowledge  a  hard  task)  — in 
fine,  try  her  manners  and  temper,  and  see  whether  she 
wears  them  all  day,  and  only  puts  on  her  smiles  with  her 
fresh  bonnet,  to  come  out  on  the  parade  at  music  time. 
I,  meanwhile,  remain  behind,  alone  in  our  airy  and  great 
Babylon. 

As  an  old  soldier  when  he  gets  to  his  ground  begins 
straightway  a  se  caser,  as  the  French  say,  makes  the  most 
of  his  circumstances,  and  himself  as  comfortable  as  he 
can,  an  old  London  man,  if  obliged  to  pass  the  dull  sea- 
son in  town,  accommodates  himself  to  the  time,  and- 
forages  here  and  there  in  the  deserted  city,  and  manages 
to  make  his  own  tent  snug.  A  thousand  means  of  com- 
fort and  amusement  spring  up,  whereof  a  man  has  no 
idea  of  the  existence,  in  the  midst  of  the  din  and  racket 
of  the  London  season.  I,  for  my  part,  am  grown  to  that 
age,  sir,  when  I  like  the  quiet  time  the  best:  the  gaiety 
of  the  great  London  season  is  too  strong  and  noisy  for 
me ;  I  like  to  talk  to  my  beloved  metropolis  when  she  has 
done  dancing  at  crow^ded  balls,  and  squeezing  at  con- 
certs, and  chattering  at  conversaziones,  and  gorging  at 
great  dinners— when  she  is  calm,  contemplative,  confi- 
dential, and  at  leisure. 

Colonel  Padmore  of  our  Club  being  out  of  town,  and 
too  wise  a  man  to  send  his  favourite  old  cob  to  grass,  I 
mounted  him  yesterday,  and  took  a  ride  in  Rotten  Row, 
and  in  various  parts  of  the  city,  where  but  ten  days  back 
all  sorts  of  life,  hilarity,  and  hospitality,  w^re  going  on. 
What  a  change  it  is  now  in  the  Park,  from  that  scene 
which  the  modern  Pepys,  and  that  ingenious  youth  who 
signs  his  immortal  drawings  with  a  D  surmounted  by  a 
dickey-bird,  depicted  only  a  few  weeks  ago !    Where  are 


OUT    OF    TOWN  113 

the  thousands  of  carriages  that  crawled  along  the  Ser- 
pentine shore,  and  which  give  an  ohservant  man  a  happy 
and  wholesome  sense  of  his  own  insignificance — for  you 
shall  he  a  man  long  upon  the  town,  and  j)ass  five  hun- 
dred equipages  without  knowing  the  owners  of  one  of 
them?  Where  are  the  myriads  of  horsemen  who  tram- 
pled the  Row? — the  splendid  dandies  whose  boots  were 
shiny,  whose  chins  were  tufted,  whose  shirts  were  as- 
tounding, whose  manners  were  frank  and  manly,  whose 
brains  were  somewhat  small?  Where  are  the  stout  old 
capitalists  and  bishops  on  their  cobs  (the  Bench,  by  the 
way,  cuts  an  uncommonly  good  figure  on  horseback)  ? 
Where  are  the  dear  rideresses,  above  all?  Where  is  she 
the  gleaming  of  whose  red  neck-ribbon  in  the  distance 
made  your  venerable  uncle's  heart  beat.  Bob?  He  sees 
her  now  prancing  by,  severe  and  beautiful — a  young 
Diana,  Avith  pure  bright  eyes!  Where  is  Fanny,  who 
wore  the  pretty  grey  hat  and  feather,  and  rode  the  pretty 
grey  mare?  Fanny  changed  her  name  last  week,  with- 
out ever  so  much  as  sending  me  a  piece  of  cake.  The 
gay  squadrons  have  disappeared:  the  ground  no  longer 
thrills  with  the  thump  of  their  countless  hoofs.  Wat- 
teau-like  groups  in  shot  silks  no  longer  compose  them- 
selves under  the  green  boughs  of  Kensington  Gardens; 
the  scarlet  trumpeters  have  blown  themselves  away 
thence;  you  don't  behold  a  score  of  horsemen  in  the 
course  of  an  hour's  ride ;  and  INIrs.  Catherine  Highflyer, 
whom  a  fortnight  since  you  never  saw  unaccompanied 
bj^  some  superb  young  Earl  and  roue  of  the  fashion, 
had  yesterday  so  little  to  do  with  her  beautiful  eyes,  that 
she  absolutely  tried  to  kill  your  humble  servant  with 
them  as  she  cantered  by  me  in  at  the  barriers  of  the  Row, 
and  looked  round   firing  Parthian   shots  behind  her. 


114  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

But  Padmore's  cob  did  not  trot,  nor  did  my  blood  run, 
any  the  quicker,  Mr.  Bob;  man  and  beast  are  grown 
too  old  and  steady  to  be  put  out  of  our  pace  by  any  Mrs. 
Highflyer  of  them  all ;  and  though  I  hope,  if  I  live  to  be 
a  hundred,  never  to  be  unmoved  by  the  sight  of  a  pretty 
girl,  it  is  not  thy  kind  of  beauty,  O  ogling  and  vain 
Delilah,  that  can  set  me  cantering  after  thee. 

By  the  way,  one  of  the  benefits  I  find  in  the  dull 
season  is  at  my  own  lodgings.  When  I  ring  the  bell 
now,  that  uncommonly  pretty  young  w^oman,  the  land- 
lady's daughter,  condescends  to  come  in  and  superintend 
my  comfort,  and  whisk  about  amongst  the  books  and 
tea-things,  and  wait  upon  me  in  general :  whereas  in  the 
full  season,  when  young  Lord  Claude  Lollypop  is  here 
attending  to  his  arduous  duties  in  Parliament,  and  oc- 
cupying his  accustomed  lodgings  on  the  second  floor, 
the  deuce  a  bit  will  ISliss  Flora  ever  deign  to  bring  a 
message  or  a  letter  to  old  Mr.  Brown  on  the  first,  but 
sends  me  in  jMuggins,  my  old  servant,  whose  ugly  face 
I  have  known  any  time  these  thirty  years,  or  the  blowsy 
maid-of -all-work  with  her  sandy  hair  in  papers. 

Again,  at  the  Club,  how  many  privileges  does  a  man 
lingering  in  London  enjoy,  from  which  he  is  precluded 
in  the  full  season?  Every  man  in  every  Club  has  three 
or  four  special  aversions — men  who  somehow  annoy  him, 
as  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  and  I,  Bob,  are  hated  by 
some  particular  man,  and  for  that  excellent  reason  for 
w^iich  the  poet  disliked  Dr.  Fell— the  appearance  of  old 
Banquo,  in  the  same  place,  in  the  same  arm-chair,  read- 
ing the  newspaper  day  after  day  and  evening  after  even- 
ing; of  Mr.  Plodder  threading  among  the  coffee-room 
tables  and  taking  note  of  every  man's  dinner;  of  old 
General  Hawkshaw,  who  makes  that  constant  noise  in 


OUT   OF    TOWN  115 

the  Club,  sneezing,  coughing,  and  blowing  his  nose— all 
these  men,  by  their  various  defects  or  qualities,  have 
driven  me  half  mad  at  times,  and  I  have  thought  to  my- 
self, Oh,  that  I  could  go  to  the  Club  without  seeing 
Banquo— Oh,  that  Plodder  would  not  come  and  inspect 
my  mutton-chop — Oh,  that  fate  would  remove  Hawk- 
shaw  and  his  pocket-handkerchief  for  ever  out  of  my 
sight  and  hearing!  Well,  August  arrives,  and  one's 
three  men  of  the  sea  are  off  one's  shoulders.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Banquo  are  at  Leamington,  the  paper  says;  Mr. 
Plodder  is  gone  to  Paris  to  inspect  the  dinners  at  the 
*'  Trois  Freres;  "  and  Hawkshaw  is  coughing  away  at 
Brighton,  where  the  sad  sea  waves  murmur  before  him. 
The  Club  is  your  own.  How  pleasant  it  is!  You  can 
get  the  Globe  and  Standard  now  without  a  struggle; 
you  may  see  all  the  Sunday  papers ;  when  j^ou  dine  it  is 
not  like  dining  in  a  street  dinned  by  the  tramp  of  waiters 
perpetually  passing  with  clanking  dishes  of  various 
odours,  and  jostled  by  young  men  who  look  scowlingly 
down  upon  your  dinner  as  they  pass  wdth  creaking  boots. 
They  are  all  gone — you  sit  in  a  vast  and  agreeable  apart- 
ment with  twenty  large  servants  at  your  orders — if  you 
were  a  Duke  with  a  thousand  pounds  a  day  you  couldn't 
be  better  served  or  lodged.  Those  men,  having  nothing 
else  to  do,  are  anxious  to  prevent  your  desires  and  make 
you  happy — the  butler  bustles  about  with  your  pint  of 
wine — if  you  order  a  dish,  the  chef  himself  will  prob- 
ably cook  it;  what  mortal  can  ask  more? 

I  once  read  in  a  book  purporting  to  give  descriptions 
of  London,  and  life  and  manners,  an  account  of  a  f amity 
in  the  low^er  ranks  of  genteel  life,  who  shut  up  the  front 
windows  of  their  house,  and  lived  in  the  back  rooms, 
from  which  they  only  issued  for  fresh  air  surreptitiously 


116  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

at  midnight,  so  that  their  friends  might  suppose  that 
they  were  out  of  town.  I  suppose  that  there  is  some 
foundation  for  this  legend.  I  suppose  that  some  people 
are  actually  afraid  to  be  seen  in  London,  when  the  per- 
sons who  form  their  society  have  quitted  the  metropolis : 
and  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Higgs  being  left  at  home  at 
Islington,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Biggs,  their  next-door 
neighbours,  have  departed  for  Margate  or  Gravesend, 
feel  pangs  of  shame  at  their  own  poverty,  and  envy  at 
their  friends'  better  fortune.  I  have  seen  many  men 
and  cities,  mv  dear  Bob,  and  noted  their  manners:  and 
for  servility  I  will  back  a  free-born  Englishman  of  the 
respectable  classes  against  any  man  of  any  nation  in  the 
world.  In  the  competition  for  social  rank  between 
Higgs  and  Biggs,  think  what  a  strange  standard  of  su- 
periority is  set  up!— a  shilling  steamer  to  Gravesend, 
and  a  few  shrimps  more  or  less  on  one  part  or  the  other, 
settle  the  claim.  Perhaps  in  what  is  called  high  life, 
there  are  disputes  as  paltry,  aims  as  mean,  and  distinc- 
tions as  absurd:  but  my  business  is  with  this  present 
folly  of  being  ashamed  to  be  in  London.  Ashamed, 
sir!  I  like  being  in  London  at  this  time,  and  have  so 
much  to  say  regarding  the  pleasures  of  the  place  in  the 
dead  season,  that  I  hope  to  write  you  another  letter  re- 
garding it  next  week. 


OUT  OF   TOWN 


117 


II 

|AREERING  during  the  sea- 
son from  one  party  to  another, 
from  one  great  dinner  of 
twenty  covers  to  another  of 
eighteen  guests;  from  Lady 
Hustlebury's  rout  to  Mrs. 
Packhngton's  soiree — friend- 
ship, to  a  man  about  town, 
becomes  impossible  from  Feb- 
ruary to  August :  it  is  only  his 
acquaintances  he  can  cultivate 
during  those  six  months  of 
turmoil. 

In  the  last  fortnight,  one 
has  had  leisure  to  recur  to  more  tender  emotions: 
in  other  words,  as  nobody  has  asked  me  to  dinner,  I 
have  been  about  seeking  dinners  from  my  old  friends. 
And  very  glad  are  they  to  see  you:  very  kindly  and 
hospitable  are  they  disjDOsed  to  be,  very  pleasant  are 
those  little  calm  reunions  in  the  quiet  summer-evenings, 
when  the  beloved  friend  of  your  youth  and  you  sip  a 
bottle  of  claret  together  leisurely  without  candles,  and 
ascend  to  the  drawling-room  where  the  friend  of  j^our 
youth's  wife  sits  blandly  presiding  over  the  teapot. 
What  matters  that  it  is  the  metal  teapot,  the  silver  uten- 
sils being  packed  off  to  the  banker's?  What  matters 
that  the  hangings  are  down,  and  the  lustre  in  a  brown- 
hollands  bag?  Intimacy  increases  by  this  artless  confi- 
dence— you  are  admitted  to  a   family  en  deshabille. 


118  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

In  an  honest  man's  house,  the  wine  is  never  sent  to  the 
banker's;  he  can  always  go  to  the  cellar  for  that.  And 
so  we  drink  and  prattle  in  quiet — about  the  past  season, 
about  our  sons  at  college,  and  what  not  ?  We  become  in- 
timate again,  because  Fate,  which  has  long  separated  us, 
throws  us  once  more  together.  I  say  the  dull  season  is 
a  kind  season:  gentle  and  amiable,  friendly  and  full  of 
quiet  enjoyment. 

Among  these  pleasant  little  meetings,  for  w'hich  the 
present  season  has  given  time  and  opportunity,  I  shall 
mention  one,  sir,  which  took  place  last  Wednesday,  and 
which  during  the  very  dinner  itself  I  vowed  I  would  de- 
scribe, if  the  venerable  iT/r.  Punch  would  grant  me  leave 
and  space,  in  the  columns  of  a  journal  which  has  for  its 
object  the  promotion  of  mirth  and  good-will. 

In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  something,  sir,  there 
lived  at  a  villa,  at  a  short  distance  from  London,  a  cer- 
tain gentleman  and  lady  who  had  many  acquaintances 
and  friends,  among  whom  was  your  humble  servant.  For 
to  become  acquainted  wath  this  young  woman  was  to  be 
her  friend,  so  friendly  was  she,  so  kind,  so  gentle,  so  full 
of  natural  genius,  and  graceful  feminine  accomplish- 
ment. Whatever  she  did,  she  did  charmingly;  her  life 
was  decorated  with  a  hundred  pretty  gifts,  with  which, 
as  one  would  fancy,  kind  fairies  had  endowed  her  cradle ; 
music  and  pictures  seemed  to  flow  naturally  out  of  her 
hand,  as  she  laid  it  on  the  piano  or  the  drawing-board. 
She  sang  exquisitely,  and  with  a  full  heart,  and  as  if  she 
couldn't  help  it  any  more  than  a  bird.  I  have  an  image 
of  this  fair  creature  before  me  now,  a  calm,  sunshiny 
evening,  a  green  lawn  flaring  with  roses  and  geraniums, 
and  a  half-dozen  gentlemen  sauntering  thereon  in  a  state 
of  great  contentment,  or  gathered  under  the  verandah. 


OUT    OF    TOWN  119 

by  the  open  French  window :  near  by  she  sits  singing  at 
the  piano.  She  is  in  a  pink  dress :  she  has  gigot  sleeves ; 
a  httle  child  in  a  prodigious  sash  is  playing  about  at  her 
mother's  knee.  She  sings  song  after  song ;  the  sun  goes 
down  behind  the  black  fir-trees  that  belt  the  lawn,  and 
INlissy  in  the  blue  sash  vanishes  to  the  nursery ;  the  room 
darkens  in  the  twilight;  the  stars  appear  in  the  heaven— 
and  the  tips  of  the  cigars  glow  in  the  balcony ;  she  sings 
song  after  song,  in  accents  soft  and  low,  tender  and  me- 
lodious— we  are  never  tired  of  hearing  her.  Indeed, 
Bob,  I  can  hear  her  still— the  stars  of  those  calm  nights 
still  shine  in  my  memory,  and  I  have  been  humming  one 
of  her  tunes  w  ith  my  pen  in  my  mouth,  to  the  surprise 
of  Mr.  Dodder,  who  is  writing  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table,  and  wondering  at  the  lackadaisical  expression 
which  pervades  my  venerable  mug. 

You  will  naturally  argue  from  the  above  pathetic  pas- 
sage, that  I  was  greatly  smitten  by  ^Irs.  Nightingale  (as 
we  wdll  call  this  lady,  if  you  wall  permit  me).  You  are 
right,  sir.  For  w^iat  is  an  amiable  woman  made,  but 
that  we  should  fall  in  love  with  her?  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  you  are  to  lose  your  sleep,  or  give  up  your  din- 
ner, or  make  yourself  unhappy  in  her  absence ;  but  when 
the  sun  shines  (and  it  is  not  too  hot)  I  like  to  bask  in  it: 
when  the  bird  sings,  to  listen :  and  to  admire  that  which  is 
admirable  with  an  honest  and  hearty  enjoyment.  There 
were  a  half-dozen  men  at  the  period  of  which  I  speak 
who  wore  Mrs.  Nightingale's  colours,  and  we  used  to  be 
invited  down  from  London  of  a  Saturday  and  Sunday, 
to  Thornwood,  by  the  hospitable  host  and  hostess  there, 
and  it  seemed  like  going  back  to  school,  when  we  came 
aw^ay  by  the  coach  of  a  INIonday  morning:  w^e  talked  of 
her  all  the  way  back  to  London,  to  separate  upon  our 


120  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

various  callings  when  we  got  into  the  smoky  city.  Sal- 
vator  Rodgers,  the  painter,  went  to  his  easel;  Wood- 
ward, the  barrister,  to  his  chambers;  Piper,  the  doctor, 
to  his  patient  (for  he  then  had  only  one),  and  so  forth. 
Fate  called  us  each  to  his  business,  and  has  sent 
us  upon  many  a  distant  errand  since  that  day.  But 
from  that  day  to  this,  whenever  we  meet,  the  remem- 
brance of  the  holidays  at  Thornwood  has  been  always  a 
bond  of  union  between  us :  and  we  have  always  had  Mrs. 
Nightingale's  colours  j)ut  away  amongst  the  cherished 
relics  of  old  times. 

N.  was  a  West  India  merchant,  and  his  property  went 
to  the  bad.  He  died  at  Jamaica.  Thornwood  was  let 
to  other  people,  who  knew  us  not.  The  widow  with 
a  small  jointure  retired,  and  educated  her  daughter 
abroad.  We  had  not  heard  of  her  for  years  and  years, 
nor  until  she  came  to  town  about  a  legacy  a  few  weeks 
since. 

In  those  years  and  years  what  changes  have  taken 
place!  Sir  Salvator  Rodgers  is  a  Member  of  the  Royal 
Academy ;  Woodward,  the  barrister,  has  made  a  fortune 
at  the  Bar;  and  in  seeing  Doctor  Piper  in  his  barouche, 
as  he  rolls  about  Belgravia  and  Mayfair,  you  at  once 
know  what  a  man  of  importance  he  has  become. 

On  last  INIonday  week,  sir,  I  received  a  letter  in  a  del- 
icate female  hand-writing,  with  which  I  was  not  ac- 
quainted, and  which  IMiss  Flora,  the  landlady's  daughter, 
condescended  to  bring  me,  saying  that  it  had  been  left  at 
the  door  by  two  ladies  in  a  brougham. 

" — Why  did  you  not  let  them  come  upstairs?  "  said  I 
in  a  rage,  after  reading  the  note. 

"  We  don't  know  what  sort  of  people  goes  about  in 
broughams,"  said  Miss  Flora,  with  a  toss  of  her  head; 


OUT    OF    TOWN  121 

"  we  don't  want  no  ladies  in  our  house."  And  she  flung 
her  impertinence  out  of  the  room. 

The  note  was  signed  Frances  Nightingale, — whereas 
our  Nightingale's  name  was  Louisa.  But  this  Frances 
was  no  other  than  the  little  thing  in  the  large  blue  sash, 
whom  M^e  remembered  at  Thornwood  ever  so  many 
years  ago.  The  writer  declared  that  she  recollected  me 
quite  well,  that  her  mamma  was  most  anxious  to  see  an 
old  friend,  and  that  they  had  apartments  at  No.  166, 
Clarges  Street,  Piccadilly,  whither  I  hastened  off  to 
pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Nightingale. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  a  tall  and  beautiful  young 
woman  with  blue  eyes,  and  a  serene  and  majestic  air, 
came  up  to  shake  hands  with  me:  and  I  beheld  in  her, 
without  in  the  least  recognizing,  the  little  Fanny  of  the 
blue  sash.  Mamma  came  out  of  the  adjoining  apartment 
presently.  We  had  not  met  since — since  all  sorts  of 
events  had  occurred — her  voice  was  not  a  little  agitated. 
Here  was  that  fair  creature  whom  we  had  admired  so. 
Sir,  I  shall  not  say  whether  she  was  altered  or  not.  The 
tones  of  her  voice  were  as  sweet  and  kind  as  ever: — and 
we  talked  about  INIiss  Fanny  as  a  subject  in  common  be- 
tween us,  and  I  admired  the  growth  and  beauty  of  the 
young  lady,  though  I  did  not  mind  telling  her  to  her 
face  (at  which  to  be  sure  the  girl  was  delighted),  that 
she  never  in  my  eyes  would  be  half  so  pretty  as  her 
mother. 

Well,  sir,  upon  this  day  arrangements  were  made  for 
the  dinner  which  took  place  on  Wednesday  last,  and  to 
the  remembrance  of  which  I  determined  to  consecrate 
this  present  page. 

It  so  happened  that  everybody  was  in  town  of  the  old 
set  of  whom  I  have  made  mention,  and  everybody  was 


122  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

disengaged.  Sir  Salvator  Rodgers  (who  has  become 
such  a  swell  since  he  was  knighted  and  got  the  cordon  of 
the  order  of  the  George  and  Blue  Boar  of  Russia,  that  we 
like  to  laugh  at  him  a  little,)  made  his  appearance  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  was  perfectly  natural  and  affable. 
Woodward,  the  lawyer,  forgot  his  abominable  law  and 
his  money  about  which  he  is  always  thinking :  and  finally, 
Dr.  Piper,  of  whom  we  despaired  because  his  wife  is 
mortally  jealous  of  every  lady  whom  he  attends,  and 
will  hardly  let  him  dine  out  of  her  sight,  had  pleaded 
Lady  Rackstraw's  situation  as  a  reason  for  not  going 
down  to  Wimbledon  Common  till  night— and  so  we  six 
had  a  meeting. 

The  door  was  opened  to  us  by  a  maid,  who  looked  us 
hard  in  the  face  as  we  went  upstairs,  and  who  was  no 
other  than  little  Fanny's  nurse  in  former  days,  come 
like  us  to  visit  her  old  mistress.  We  all  knew  her  except 
Woodward,  the  lawyer,  and  all  shook  hands  with  her 
except  him.  Constant  study  had  driven  her  out  of  the 
lawyer's  memoiy.  I  don't  think  he  ever  cared  for  Mrs. 
Nightingale  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us  did,  or  indeed  that 
it  is  in  the  nature  of  that  learned  man  to  care  for  any 
but  one  learned  person. 

And  what  do  you  think,  sir,  this  dear  and  faithful 
widow  had  done  to  make  us  welcome?  She  remembered 
the  dishes  that  we  used  to  like  ever  so  long  ago,  and  she 
had  every  man's  favourite  dish  for  him.  Rodgers  used 
to  have  a  passion  for  herrings— there  they  were;  the  law- 
yer, who  has  an  enormous  appetite,  which  he  gratifies 
at  other  people's  expense,  had  a  shoulder  of  mutton  and 
onion  sauce,  which  the  lean  and  hungry  man  devoured 
almost  entirely:  mine  did  not  come  till  the  second  course 
— it  was  baked  plum-pudding— I  was  affected  when 


OUT    OF    TOWN  123 

I  saw  it,  sir — I  choked  almost  when  I  ate  it.  Piper 
made  a  beautiful  little  speech,  and  made  an  ice  com- 
pound, for  which  he  was  famous,  and  we  drank  it  just 
as  we  used  to  drink  it  in  old  times,  and  to  the  health  of 
the  widow. 

How  should  we  have  had  this  dinner^  how  could  we  all 
have  assembled  together  again,  if  everybody  had  not 
been  out  of  town,  and  everybody  had  not  been  disen- 
gaged? Just  for  one  evening,  the  scattered  members  of 
an  old  circle  of  friendship  returned  and  met  round  the 
old  table  again — round  this  little  green  island  we  moor 
for  the  night  at  least, — to-morrow  we  part  company,  and 
each  man  for  himself  sails  over  the  ingens  cequor. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above,  I  find  that  everybody  really 
is  gone  away.  The  widow  left  town  on  Friday.  I  have 
been  on  my  round  just  now,  and  have  been  met  at  every 
step  by  closed  shutters  and  the  faces  of  unfamiliar  char- 
women. No.  9  is  gone  to  Malvern.  No.  37,  15,  25,  48, 
and  36a,  are  gone  to  Scotland.  The  solitude  of  the  Club 
begins  to  be  unbearable,  and  I  found  Muggins  this 
morning  preparing  a  mysterious  apparatus  of  travelling 
boot-trees,  and  dusting  the  portmanteaus. 

If  you  are  not  getting  on  well  with  the  Kickleburj^s 
at  Homburg,  I  recommend  you  to  go  to  Spa.  Mrs. 
Nightingale  is  going  thither,  and  will  be  at  the  Hotel 
d'Orange;  where  you  may  use  my  name  and  present 
yourself  to  her ;  and  I  may  hint  to  you  in  confidence  that 
Miss  Fanny  will  have  a  very  pretty  little  fortune. 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX 


night  to  the  Con- 
servatoire at  Paris, 
where  there  was 
a  magnificent  as- 
semblage of  rank 
and  fashion  gath- 
ered together  to 
hear  the  dehght- 
ful  performance  of 
Madame  Sontag, 
the  friend  who 
conferred  upon  me 
the  pohte  favour 
of  a  ticket  to  the 
stalls,  also  pointed 
out  to  me  who  were  the  most  remarkable  personages 
round  about  us.  There  were  ambassadors,  politicians, 
and  gentlemen,  military  and  literary;  there  were  beau- 
ties, French,  Russian,  and  English:  there  were  old  ladies 
who  had  been  beauties  once,  and  who,  by  the  help  of  a 
little  distance  and  politeness  (and  if  you  didn't  use  your 
opera-glass,  which  is  a  cruel  detector  of  paint  and 
wrinkles),  looked  j^oung  and  handsome  still:  and  plenty 
of  old  bucks  in  the  stalls  and  boxes,  well  wigged,  well 
gloved,  and  brilliantly  waistcoated,  very  obsequious  to 
the  ladies,  and  satisfied  with  themselves  and  the  world. 
Up  in  the  second  tier  of  boxes  I  saw  a  very  stout,  jolly, 

J24 


ON  A  LADY  IX  AX  OPERA-BOX     125 

good -humoured -looking  lady,  whose  head-dress  and 
ringlets  and  general  appurtenances  were  unmistakably 
English — and  whom,  were  you  to  meet  her  at  Tim- 
buctoo,  or  in  the  Seraglio  of  the  Grand  Sultan  amongst 
a  bevy  of  beauties  collected  from  all  the  countries  of  the 
earth,  one  would  instantly  know  to  be  a  British  female. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that,  were  I  the  Padishah,  I  would 
select  that  moon-faced  houri  out  of  all  the  lovely  society, 
and  make  her  the  Empress  or  Grand  Signora  of  my  do- 
minions; but  simply  that  there  is  a  character  about  our 
countiywomen  which  leads  one  to  know,  recognize,  and 
admire,  and  wonder  at  them  among  all  women  of  all 
tongues  and  countries.  We  have  our  British  Lion;  we 
have  our  Britannia  ruling  the  waves:  we  have  our  British 
female — the  most  respectable,  the  most  remarkable,  of 
the  women  of  this  world.  And  now  we  have  come  to  the 
woman  who  gives  the  subject,  though  she  is  not  herself 
the  subject,  of  these  present  remarks. 

As  I  looked  at  her  with  that  fond  curiosity  and  silent 
pleasure  and  wonder  which  she  (I  mean  the  Great- 
British  Female)  always  inspires  in  my  mind,  watching 
her  smiles,  her  ways  and  motions,  her  allurements  and 
attractive  gestures— her  head  bobbing  to  this  friend 
whom  she  recognized  in  the  stalls — her  jolly  fat  hand 
wagging  a  welcome  to  that  acquaintance  in  a  neighbour- 
ing box— my  friend  and  guide  for  the  evening  caught 
her  eye,  and  made  her  a  respectful  bow,  and  said  to  me 
with  a  look  of  much  meaning,  "  That  is  Mrs.  Trotter- 
Walker."  And  from  that  minute  I  forgot  Madame 
Sontag,  and  thought  only  of  jNIrs.  T.-W. 

"  So  that,"  said  I,  "  is  ISIrs.  Trotter- Walker!  You 
have  touched  a  chord  in  my  heart.  You  have  brought 
back  old  times  to  my  memory,  and  made  me  recall 


126  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

some  of  the  griefs  and  disappointments  of  my  early- 
days." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  man!"  says  Tom,  my  friend. 
"  Listen  to  the  Sontag;  how  divinely  she  is  singing!  how 
fresh  her  voice  is  still!  " 

I  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Walker  all  the  time  with  unabated 
interest.  "  Madam,"  thought  I,  "  you  look  to  be  as  kind 
and  good-natured  a  person  as  eyes  ever  lighted  upon. 
The  way  in  which  you  are  smiling  to  that  young  dandy 
with  the  double  eyeglass,  and  the  empressement  with 
which  he  returns  the  salute,  show  that  your  friends  are 
persons  of  rank  and  elegance,  and  that  you  are  esteemed 
by  them — giving  them,  as  I  am  sure  from  your  kind  ap- 
pearance you  do,  good  dinners  and  pleasant  balls.  But 
I  wonder  what  would  you  think  if  you  knew  that  I  was 
looking  at  you  ?  I  behold  you  for  the  first  time :  there  are 
a  hundred  pretty  young  girls  in  the  house,  whom  an  ama- 
teur of  mere  beauty  would  examine  with  much  greater 
satisfaction  than  he  would  naturally  bestow  upon  a  lady 
whose  prime  is  past;  and  yet  the  sight  of  you  interests 
me,  and  tickles  me,  so  to  speak,  and  my  eyeglass  can't  re- 
move itself  from  the  contemplation  of  your  honest  face." 

What  is  it  that  interests  me  so?  What  do  you  suppose 
interests  a  man  the  most  in  this  life?  Himself,  to  be 
sure.  It  is  at  himself  he  is  looking  through  his  opera- 
glass — himself  who  is  concerned,  or  he  would  not  be 
watching  you  so  keenly.  And  now  let  me  confess  why  it 
is  that  the  lad}^  in  the  upper  box  excites  me  so,  and  why 
I  say,  "  That  is  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker,  is  it?  "  with  an  air 
of  such  deep  interest. 

Well  then.  In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty- 
odd,  it  happened  that  I  went  to  pass  the  winter  at  Rome, 
as  we  will  call  the  city.     Major-General  and  Mrs. 


ON  A  LADY  IN  AN  OPERA-BOX     127 

Trotter-Walker  were  also  there;  and  until  I  heard  of 
them  there,  I  had  never  heard  that  there  were  such  people 
in  existence  as  the  general  and  the  lady — the  lady  yonder 
with  the  large  fan  in  the  upper  boxes.  INIrs.  Walker, 
as  became  her  station  in  life,  took,  I  dare  say,  very 
comfortable  lodgings,  gave  dinners  and  parties  to 
her  friends,  and  had  a  night  in  the  week  for  recep- 
tions. 

Much  as  I  have  travelled  and  lived  abroad,  these  even- 
ing reunions  have  never  greatly  fascinated  me.  Man 
cannot  live  upon  lemonade,  wax-candles,  and  weak  tea. 
Gloves  and  white  neckcloths  cost  money,  and  those 
plaguy  shiny  boots  are  always  so  tight  and  hot.  Am  I 
made  of  money,  that  I  can  hire  a  coach  to  go  to  one  of 
these  soirees  on  a  rainy  Roman  night;  or  can  I  come 
in  goloshes,  and  take  them  oiF  in  the  ante-chamber? 
I  am  too  poor  for  cabs,  and  too  vain  for  goloshes.  If  it 
had  been  to  see  the  girl  of  my  heart,  (I  mean  at  the 
time  when  there  were  girls,  and  I  had  a  heart,)  I 
couldn't  have  gone  in  goloshes.  Well,  not  being  in  love, 
and  not  liking  weak  tea  and  lemonade,  I  did  not  go  to 
evening-parties  that  year  at  Rome:  nor,  of  later  years, 
at  Paris,  Vienna,  Copenhagen,  Islington,  or  wherever  I 
may  have  been. 

What,  then,  were  my  feelings  when  my  dear  and  val- 
ued friend,  ]Mrs.  Coverlade,  (she  is  a  daughter  of  that 
venerable  Peer,  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lord  Com- 
mandine,)  who  was  passing  the  winter  too  at  Rome, 
said  to  me,  "  My  dear  Dr.  Pacifico,  what  have  you  done 
to  offend  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker?" 

"  I  know  no  person  of  that  name,"  I  said.  "  I  knew 
Walker  of  the  Post  Office  and  poor  Trotter  who  was 
a  captain  in  our  regiment,  and  died  under  my  hands  at 


128  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  Bahamas.  But  with  the  Trotter-Walkers  I  haven't 
the  honour  of  an  acquaintance." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  likely  that  you  will  have  that  honour," 
Mrs.  Coverlade  said.  "  Mrs.  Walker  said  last  night  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  that  she 
did  not  intend  to  receive  you." 

"  I  think  she  might  have  waited  until  I  asked  her, 
Madam,"  I  said.  "  What  have  I  done  to  her?  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  of  her :  how  should  I  want  to  get  into 
her  house?  or  attend  at  her  Tuesdays— confound  her 
Tuesdays!  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  said,  "  Confound  Mrs. 
Walker's  Tuesdays,"  and  the  conversation  took  another 
turn,  and  it  so  happened  that  I  was  called  away  from 
Rome  suddenly,  and  never  set  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Walker, 
or  indeed  thought  about  her  from  that  day  to  this. 

Strange  endurance  of  human  vanity!  a  million  of 
much  more  important  conversations  have  escaped  one 
since  then,  most  likely— but  the  memory  of  this  little 
mortification  (for  such  it  is,  after  all)  remains  quite 
fresh  in  the  mind,  and  unforgotten,  though  it  is  a  trifle, 
and  more  than  half  a  score  of  years  old.  We  forgive 
injuries,  we  survive  even  our  remorse  for  great  wrongs 
that  we  ourselves  commit;  but  I  doubt  if  we  ever  for- 
give slights  of  this  nature  put  upon  us,  or  forget  cir- 
cumstances in  which  our  self-love  had  been  made  to 
suffer. 

Otherwise,  why  should  the  remembrance  of  Mrs. 
Trotter-Walker  have  remained  so  lively  in  this  bosom? 
Why  should  her  appearance  have  excited  such  a  keen 
interest  in  these  eyes?  Had  Venus  or  Helen  (the  fa- 
vourite beauty  of  Paris)  been  at  the  side  of  INIrs.  T.-W., 
I  should  have  looked  at  the  latter  more  than  at  the  Queen 
of  Love  herself.     Had  JNIrs.  Walker  murdered  Mrs, 


o:n^  a  lady  in  an  opera-box   129 

Pacifico,  or  inflicted  some  mortal  injury  upon  me,  I 
might  forgive  her— but  for  shght?  Never,  Mrs.  Trotter- 
Walker  ;  never,  by  Nemesis,  never ! 

And  now,, having  allowed  my  personal  wrath  to  ex- 
plode, let  us  calmly  moralize  for  a  minute  or  two  upon 
this  little  circumstance;  for  there  is  no  circumstance, 
however  little,  that  won't  afford  a  text  for  a  sermon. 
Why  was  it  that  Mrs.  General  Trotter-Walker  refused 
to  receive  Dr.  S.  Pacifico  at  her  parties?  She  had  no- 
ticed me  probably  somewhere  where  I  had  not  remarked 
her ;  she  did  not  like  my  aquiline  countenance,  my  man- 
ner of  taking  snufF,  my  Blucher  boots,  or  what  not?  or 
she  had  seen  me  walking  with  my  friend  Jack  Raggett, 
the  painter,  on  the  Pincio— a  fellow  with  a  hat  and 
beard  like  a  bandit,  a  shabby  paletot,  and  a  great  pipe 
between  his  teeth.  I  was  not  genteel  enough  for  her 
circle— I  assume  that  to  be  the  reason;  indeed,  JMrs. 
Coverlade,  with  a  good-natured  smile  at  my  coat,  which 
I  own  was  somewhat  shabby,  gave  me  to  understand  as 
much. 

You  little  know,  my  worthy  kind  lady,  what  a  loss  you 
had  that  season  at  Rome,  in  turning  up  your  amiable  nose 
at  the  present  writer.  I  could  have  given  you  appro- 
priate anecdotes  (with  which  my  mind  is  stored)  of  all 
the  courts  of  Europe  (besides  of  Africa,  Asia,  and  St. 
Domingo,)  which  I  have  visited.  I  could  have  made 
the  General  die  of  laughing  after  dinner  with  some  of 
my  funny  stories,  of  which  I  keep  a  book,  without  which 
I  never  travel.  I  am  content  with  my  dinner:  I  can 
carve  beautifully,  and  make  jokes  upon  almost  any  dish 
at  table.  I  can  talk  about  wine,  cookery,  hotels  all  over 
the  Continent:— anything  you  will.  I  have  been  fa- 
miliar with  Cardinals,  Red  Republicans,  Jesuits,  Ger- 


130  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

man  Princes,  and  Carbonari;  and  what  is  more,  I  can 
listen  and  hold  my  tongue  to  admiration.  Ah,  Madam! 
what  did  you  lose  in  refusing  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  Solomon  Pacifico,  M.D.! 

And  why?  Because  my  coat  was  a  trifle  threadbare; 
because  I  dined  at  the  "  Lepre  "  with  Raggett  and  some 
of  those  other  bandits  of  painters,  and  had  not  the  money 
to  hire  a  coach  and  horses. 

Gentility  is  the  death  and  destruction  of  social  happi- 
ness amongst  the  middle  classes  in  England.  It  de- 
stroys naturalness  (if  I  may  coin  such  a  word)  and 
kindly  sympathies.  The  object  of  life,  as  I  take  it,  is  to 
be  friendly  with  everybody.  As  a  rule,  and  to  a  philo- 
sophical cosmopolite,  every  man  ought  to  be  welcome. 
I  do  not  mean  to  your  intimacy  or  affection,  but  to  your 
society ;  as  there  is,  if  we  would  or  could  but  discover  it, 
something  notable,  something  worthy  of  observation,  of 
sympathy,  of  wonder  and  amusement  in  every  fellow- 
mortal.  If  I  had  been  IMr.  Pacifico,  travelling  with  a 
courier  and  a  carriage,  would  Mrs.  Walker  have  made 
any  objection  to  me?  I  think  not.  It  was  the  Blucher 
boots  and  the  worn  hat  and  the  homely  companion  of  the 
individual  which  were  unwelcome  to  this  lady.  If  I  had 
been  the  disguised  Duke  of  Pacifico,  and  not  a  retired 
army  surgeon,  would  she  have  forgiven  herself  for 
sliffhtinff  me?  What  stores  of  novels,  what  foison  of 
plays,  are  composed  upon  this  theme,  — the  queer  old 
character  in  the  wig  and  cloak  throws  off  coat  and  spec- 
tacles, and  appears  suddenly  with  a  star  and  crown,— a 
Haroun  Alraschid,  or  other  Merry  Monarch.  And 
straightway  we  clap  our  hands  and  applaud— what?— 
the  star  and  garter. 

But  disguised  emperors  are  not  common  now-a-days. 


ON  A  LADY  IN  AN  OPERA-BOX    131 

You  don't  turn  away  monarchs  from  your  door,  any 
more  than  angels,  unawares.  Consider,  though,  how 
many  a  good  fellow  you  may  shut  out  and  sneer  upon! 
what  an  immense  deal  of  pleasure,  frankness,  kindness, 
good-fellowship  we  forego  for  the  sake  of  our  con- 
founded gentility,  and  respect  for  outward  show!  In- 
stead of  placing  our  society  upon  an  honest  footing,  we 
make  our  aim  almost  avowedly  sordid.  Love  is  of  neces- 
sity banished  from  your  society  when  you  measure  all 
your  guests  by  a  money-standard. 

I  think  of  all  this — a  harmless  man — seeing  a  good- 
natured-looking,  jolly  woman  in  the  boxes  yonder,  who 
thought  herself  once  too  great  a  person  to  associate  with 
the  likes  of  me.  If  I  give  myself  airs  to  mj^  neighbour, 
may  I  think  of  this  too,  and  be  a  little  more  humble! 
And  you,  honest  friend,  who  read  this — have  you  ever 
pooh-poohed  a  man  as  good  as  you  ?  If  you  fall  into  the 
society  of  people  whom  you  are  pleased  to  call  your 
inferiors,  did  you  ever  sneer?  If  so,  change  I  into  U, 
and  the  fable  is  narrated  for  your  own  benefit,  by  your 
obedient  servant, 

Solomon  Pacifico. 


ON  THE  PLEASURES  OF  BEIXG  A  FOGY 


^HILST  I  was  riding  the  other 
day  by  the  beautiful  Serpen- 
tine River  uj^on  my  excellent 
friend  Heaviside's  grey  cob, 
and  in  company  of  the  gallant 
and  agreeable  Augustus  Top- 
lady,  a  carriage  passed  from 
which  looked  out  a  face  of  such 
remarkable  beauty  that  Au- 
gustus and  myself  quickened 
our  pace  to  follow  the  vehicle, 
and  to  keep  for  a  while  those 
charming  features  in  view. 
My  beloved  and  unknown 
young  friend  who  peruse  these 
lines,  it  was  veiy  likely  your  face  which  attracted  your 
humble  servant;  recollect  whether  you  were  not  in  the 
Park  upon  the  day  I  allude  to,  and  if  you  were,  whom 
else  could  I  mean  but  you  ?  I  don't  know  your  name ;  I 
have  forgotten  the  arms  on  the  carriage,  or  whether  there 
were  any;  and  as  for  women's  dresses,  who  can  remem- 
ber them  ?  but  your  dear  kind  countenance  was  so  pretty 
and  good-humoured  and  pleasant  to  look  at,  that  it  re- 
mains to  this  day  faithfully  engraven  on  my  heart,  and 
I  feel  sure  that  you  are  as  good  as  you  are  handsome. 
Almost  all  handsome  women  are  good:  they  cannot 
choose  but  be  good  and  gentle  with  those  sweet  features 
and  that  charming  graceful  figure.    A  day  in  which  one 

132 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  BEING  A  FOGY  133 

sees  a  very  pretty  woman  should  always  be  noted  as  a 
holyday  with  a  man,  and  marked  with  a  white  stone.  In 
this  way,  and  at  this  season  in  London,  to  be  sure,  such 
a  day  comes  seven  times  in  the  week,  and  our  calendar, 
like  that  of  the  Roman  Catholics,  is  all  Saints'  days. 

Toplady,  then,  on  his  chestnut  horse,  with  his  glass 
in  his  eye,  and  the  tips  of  his  shiny  boots  just  touching 
the  stirrup,  and  your  slave,  the  present  writer,  rode  after 
your  carriage,  and  looked  at  you  with  such  notes  of  ad- 
miration expressed  in  their  eyes,  that  you  remember  you 
blushed,  you  smiled,  and  then  began  to  talk  to  that  very 
nice-looking  elderly  lady  in  the  front  seat,  who  of  course 
was  your  jMamma.  You  turned  out  of  the  ride — it  was 
time  to  go  home  and  dress  for  dinner, — \^ou  were  gone. 
Good  luck  go  with  you,  and  with  all  fair  things  which 
thus  come  and  pass  away! 

Top  caused  his  horse  to  cut  all  sorts  of  absurd  capers 
and  caracoles  by  the  side  of  your  carriage.  He  made  it 
dance  upon  two  legs,  then  upon  other  two,  then  as  if  he 
would  jump  over  the  railings  and  crush  the  admiring 
nursery-maids  and  the  rest  of  the  infantry.  I  should 
think  he  got  his  animal  from  Batty's,  and  that,  at  a 
crack  of  Widdicomb's  whip,  he  could  dance  a  quadrille. 
He  ogled,  he  smiled,  he  took  off  his  hat  to  a  Countess's 
carriage  that  happened  to  be  passing  in  the  other  line, 
and  so  showed  his  hair;  he  grinned,  he  kissed  his  little 
finger-tips  and  flung  them  about  as  if  he  would  shake 
them  oiF — whereas  the  other  party  on  the  grey  cob — 
the  old  gentleman — powdered  along  at  a  resolute  trot, 
and  never  once  took  his  respectful  eyes  off  you  while  you 
continued  in  the  ring. 

When  you  were  gone  (you  see  by  the  way  in  which  I 
linger  about  you  still,  that  I  am  unwilling  to  part  with 


134.  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

you)  Toplady  turned  round  upon  me  with  a  killing  tri- 
umphant air,  and  stroked  that  impudent  little  tuft  he  has 
on  his  chin,  and  said—"  I  say,  old  boy,  it  was  the  chest- 
nut she  was  looking  at,  and  not  the  gwey."  And  I  make 
no  doubt  he  thinks  you  are  in  love  with  him  to  this 
minute. 

"  You  silly  young  jackanapes,"  said  I,  "  what  do  I 
care  whether  she  was  looking  at  the  grey  or  the  chestnut  ? 
I  was  thinking  about  the  girl;  you  were  thinking  about 
yourself,  and  be  hanged  to  your  vanity !  "  And  with  this 
thrust  in  his  little  chest,  I  flatter  myself  I  upset  young 
Toplady,  that  triumphant  careering  rider. 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  please;  that  is, 
that  he  should  wish  other  people  to  admire  him.  Au- 
gustus Toplady  is  young  (still)  and  lovely.  It  is  not 
until  a  late  period  of  life  that  a  genteel  young  fellow, 
with  a  Grecian  nose  and  a  suitable  waist  and  whiskers, 
begins  to  admire  other  people  besides  himself. 

That,  however,  is  the  great  advantage  which  a  man 
possesses  whose  morning  of  life  is  over,  whose  reason  is 
not  taken  prisoner  by  any  kind  of  blandishments,  and 
who  knows  and  feels  that  he  is  a  FOGY.  As  an  old 
buck  is  an  odious  sight,  absurd,  and  ridiculous  before 
gods  and  men;  cruelly,  but  deservedly,  quizzed  by  j^ou 
young  people,  who  are  not  in  the  least  duped  by  his 
youthful  airs  or  toilette  artifices,  so  an  honest,  good- 
natured,  straightforward,  middle-aged,  easily-pleased 
Fogy  is  a  worthy  and  amiable  member  of  society,  and  a 
man  who  gets  both  resjDcct  and  liking. 

Even  in  the  lovely  sex,  w^ho  has  not  remarked  how 
painful  is  that  period  of  a  woman's  life  when  she  is  pass- 
ing out  of  her  bloom,  and  thinking  about  giving  up  her 
position  as  a  beauty?    What  sad  injustice  and  strata- 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  BEING  A  FOGY  135 

gems  she  has  to  perpetrate  during  the  struggle!  She 
hides  away  her  daughters  in  the  school-room,  she  makes 
them  wear  cruel  pinafores,  and  dresses  herself  in  the 
garb  which  they  ought  to  assume.  She  is  obliged  to  dis- 
tort the  calendar,  and  to  resort  to  all  sorts  of  schemes 
and  arts  to  hide,  in  her  own  person,  the  august  and  re- 
spectable marks  of  time.  Ah !  what  is  this  revolt  against 
nature  but  impotent  blaspliemy  ?  Is  not  Autumn  beauti- 
ful in  its  appointed  season,  that  we  are  to  be  ashamed  of 
her  and  paint  her  yellowing  leaves  pea-green?  Let  us, 
I  say,  take  the  fall  of  the  year  as  it  was  made,  serenely 
and  sweetly,  and  await  the  time  when  Winter  comes  and 
the  nights  shut  in.  I  know,  for  my  part,  many  ladies 
who  are  far  more  agreeable  and  more  beautiful  too,  now 
that  they  are  no  longer  beauties ;  and,  by  converse,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  Toplady,  about  whom  we  were  speaking 
just  now,  will  be  a  far  pleasanter  person  when  he  has 
given  up  the  practice,  or  desire,  of  killing  the  other  sex, 
and  has  sunk  into  a  mellow  repose  as  an  old  bachelor  or 
a  married  man. 

The  great  and  delightful  advantage  that  a  man  en- 
joys in  the  world,  after  he  has  abdicated  all  pretensions 
as  a  conqueror  and  enslaver  of  females,  and  both  for- 
mally, and  of  his  heart,  acknowledges  himself  to  be  a 
Fogy,  is  that  he  now  comes  for  the  first  time  to  enjoy 
and  appreciate  duly  the  society  of  women.  For  a  young 
man  about  town,  there  is  only  one  woman  in  the  whole 
city—  (at  least  very  few  indeed  of  the  young  Turks,  let 
us  hope,  dare  to  have  two  or  three  strings  to  their  wicked 
bows)  —he  goes  to  ball  after  ball  in  pursuit  of  that  one 
person;  he  sees  no  other  eyes  but  hers;  hears  no  other 
voice;  cares  for  no  other  petticoat  but  that  in  which  his 
charmer  dances:  he  pursues  her— is  refused— is  accepted 


136  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

and  jilted;  breaks  his  heart,  mends  it  of  course,  and  goes 
on  again  after  some  other  beloved  being,  until  in  the 
order  of  fate  and  nature  he  marries  and  settles,  or  re- 
mains unmarried,  free,  and  a  Fogy.  Until  then  we  know 
nothing  of  women— the  kindness  and  refinement  and 
wit  of  the  elders ;  the  artless  prattle  and  dear  little  chat- 
ter of  the  young  ones ;  all  these  are  hidden  from  us  until 
we  take  the  Fogy's  degree:  nay,  even  perhaps  from 
married  men,  whose  age  and  gravity  entitle  them  to  rank 
amongst  Fogies;  for  every  woman,  who  is  worth  any- 
thing, will  be  jealous  of  her  husband  up  to  seventy  or 
eighty,  and  always  prevent  his  intercourse  with  other 
ladies.  But  an  old  bachelor,  or  better  still  an  old  w^id- 
ower,  has  this  delightful  entree  into  the  female  world: 
he  is  free  to  come;  to  go;  to  listen;  to  joke;  to  sympa- 
thize ;  to  talk  with  mamma  about  her  plans  and  troubles ; 
to  pump  from  Miss  the  little  secrets  that  gush  so  easily 
from  her  pure  little  well  of  a  heart;  the  ladies  do 
not  gener  themselves  before  him,  and  he  is  admitted  to 
their  mysteries  like  the  Doctor,  the  Confessor,  or  the 
Kislar  Aga. 

What  man,  who  can  enjoj^  this  pleasure  and  privilege, 
ought  to  be  indifferent  to  it?  If  the  society  of  one 
woman  is  delightful,  as  the  young  fellows  think,  and 
justly,  how  much  more  delightful  is  the  society  of  a 
thousand!  One  woman,  for  instance,  has  brown  eyes, 
and  a  geological  or  musical  turn ;  another  has  sweet  blue 
eyes,  and  takes,  let  us  say,  the  Gorham  side  of  the  con- 
troversy at  present  pending;  a  third  darling,  with  long 
fringed  lashes  hiding  eyes  of  hazel,  lifts  them  up  ceiling- 
wards  in  behalf  of  Miss  Sellon,  thinks  the  Lord  Chief 
Justice  has  hit  the  poor  young  lady  very  hard  in  pub- 
lishing her  letters,  and  proposes  to  quit  the  Church  next 


THE   BENEFITS   OF  BEING  A  FOGY  137 

Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  or  whenever  Mr.  Oriel  is  ready 
— and,  of  course,  a  man  may  be  in  love  with  one  or  the 
other  of  these.  But  it  is  manifest  that  brown  eyes  will 
remain  brown  eyes  to  the  end,  and  that,  having  no  other 
interest  but  music  or  geology,  her  conversation  on  those 
points  may  grow  more  than  sufficient.  Sapphira,  again, 
when  she  has  said  her  say  with  regard  to  the  Gorham 
affair,  and  proved  that  the  other  party  are  but  Roman- 
ists in  disguise,  and  who  is  interested  on  no  other  subject, 
may  possibly  tire  you— so  may  Hazelia,  who  is  working 
altar-cloths  all  day,  and  would  desire  no  better  martyr- 
dom than  to  walk  barefoot  in  a  night  procession  up 
Sloane  Street  and  home  by  Wilton  Place,  time  enough 
to  get  her  poor  meurtris  little  feet  into  white  satin  slip- 
pers for  the  night's  ball— I  say,  if  a  man  can  be  wrought 
up  to  rapture,  and  enjoy  bliss  in  the  company  of  any  one 
of  these  young  ladies,  or  any  other  individuals  in  the  in- 
finite variety  of  Miss-kind— how  much  real  sympathy, 
benevolent  pleasure,  and  kindly  observation  may  he  en- 
joy, when  he  is  allowed  to  be  familiar  with  the  whole 
charming  race,  and  behold  the  brightness  of  all  their  dif- 
ferent eyes,  and  listen  to  the  sweet  music  of  their  various 
voices ! 

In  possession  of  the  right  and  privilege  of  gaiTulity 
which  is  accorded  to  old  age,  I  cannot  allow  that  a  single 
side  of  paper  should  contain  all  that  I  have  to  say  in  re- 
spect to  the  manifold  advantages  of  being  a  Fogy.  I 
am  a  Fogy,  and  have  been  a  young  man.  I  see  twenty 
women  in  the  world  constantly  to  whom  I  would  like  to 
have  given  a  lock  of  my  hair  in  days  when  my  pate 
boasted  of  that  ornament;  for  whom  my  heart  felt  tu- 
multuous emotions,  before  the  victorious  and  beloved 


138  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Mrs.  Pacifico  subjugated  it.  If  I  had  any  feelings  now, 
ISlrs.  P.  would  order  them  and  me  to  be  quiet:  but  I 
have  none;  I  am  tranquil — yes,  really  tranquil  (though 
as  my  dear  Leonora  is  sitting  opposite  to  me  at  this 
minute,  and  has  an  askance  glance  from  her  novel  to  my 
paper  as  I  write — even  if  I  were  not  tranquil,  I  should 
say  that  I  was;  but  I  am  quiet)  :  I  have  passed  the  hot 
stage :  and  I  do  not  know  a  pleasanter  and  calmer  feeling 
of  mind  than  that  of  a  respectable  person  of  the  middle 
age,  who  can  still  be  heartily  and  generously  fond  of  all 
the  women  about  whom  he  was  in  a  passion  and  a  fever  in 
early  life.  If  you  cease  liking  a  woman  when  you  cease 
loving  her,  depend  on  it,  that  one  of  you  is  a  bad  one. 
You  are  parted,  never  mind  with  what  pangs  on  either 
side,  or  by  what  circumstances  of  fate,  choice,  or  neces- 
sity,— you  have  no  money  or  she  has  too  much,  or  she  likes 
somebody  else  better,  and  so  forth;  but  an  honest  Fogy 
should  always,  unless  reason  be  given  to  the  contrary, 
think  well  of  the  woman  whom  he  has  once  thought  well 
of,  and  remember  her  with  kindness  and  tenderness,  as  a 
man  remembers  a  place  where  he  has  been  very  happy. 

A  proper  management  of  his  recollections  thus  con- 
stitutes a  very  great  item  in  the  happiness  of  a  Fogy. 

I,  for  my  part,  would  rather  remember ,  and , 

and  — —  ( I  dare  not  mention  names,  for  isn't  my  Leo- 
nora pretending  to  read  "  The  Initials,"  and  peeping 
over  my  shoulder?)  than  be  in  love  over  again.  It  is  be- 
cause I  have  suffered  prodigiously  from  that  passion 
that  I  am  interested  in  beholding  others  undergoing  the 
malady.  I  watch  it  in  all  ball-rooms  (over  my  cards, 
where  I  and  the  old  ones  sit,)  and  dinner-parties.  With- 
out sentiment,  there  would  be  no  flavour  in  life  at  all. 
I  like  to  watch  young  folks  who  are  fond  of  each  other, 


THE   BENEFITS   OF   BEING   A   FOGY  139 

be  it  tlie  housemaid  furtively  engaged  smiling  and  glan- 
cing with  John  through  the  area  railings;  be  it  JMiss  and 
the  Captain  whispering  in  the  embrasure  of  the  drawing- 
room  window — Amant  is  interesting  to  me  because  of 
Amavi — of  course  it  is  Mrs.  Pacifico  I  mean. 

All  Fogies  of  good  breeding  and  kind  condition  of 
mind,  who  go  about  in  the  world  much,  should,  remember 
to  efface  themselves — if  I  may  use  a  French  phrase 
— they  should  not,  that  is  to  say,  thrust  in  their  old  mugs 
on  all  occasions.  When  the  people  are  marching  out  to 
dinner,  for  instance,  and  the  Captain  is  sidling  up  to 
Miss,  Fogy,  because  he  is  twenty  years  older  than  the 
Captain,  should  not  push  himself  forward  to  arrest  that 
young  fellow,  and  carry  off  the  disappointed  girl  on 
his  superannuated  rheumatic  old  elbow.  When  there  is 
anything  of  this  sort  going  on  (and  a  man  of  the  world 
has  possession  of  the  carte  du  pays  with  half  an  eye),  I 
become  interested  in  a  picture,  or  have  something  partic- 
ular to  say  to  pretty  Polly  the  parrot,  or  to  little  Tommy, 
who  is  not  coming  in  to  dinner,  and  while  I  am  talking  to 
him,  Miss  and  the  Captain  make  their  little  arrangement. 
In  this  way  I  managed  only  last  week  to  let  young  Bil- 
lington  and  the  lovely  Blanche  Pouter  get  together ;  and 
walked  downstairs  with  my  hat  for  the  only  partner  of 
my  arm.  Augustus  Toplady  now,  because  he  was  a 
Captain  of  Dragoons  almost  before  Billington  was  born, 
would  have  insisted  upon  his  right  of  precedence  over 
Billington,  who  only  got  his  troop  the  other  day. 

Precedence!  Fiddlestick!  Men  squabble  about  prece- 
dence because  they  are  doubtful  about  their  condition, 
as  Irishmen  will  insist  upon  it  that  you  are  determined 
to  insult  and  trample  upon  their  beautiful  country, 
whether  you  are  thinking  about  it  or  no ;  men  young  to 


140  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  world  mistrust  the  bearing  of  others  towards  them, 
because  they  mistrust  themselves.  I  have  seen  many 
sneaks  and  much  cringing  of  course  in  the  world ;  but  the 
fault  of  gentlefolks  is  generally  the  contrary — an  ab- 
surd doubt  of  the  intentions  of  others  towards  us,  and  a 
perpetual  assertion  of  our  twopenny  dignity,  which  no- 
body is  thinking  of  wounding. 

As  a  young  man,  if  the  Lord  I  knew  did  not  happen 
to  notice  me,  the  next  time  I  met  him  I  used  to  envelop 
myself  in  my  dignity,  and  treat  his  Lordship  with  such 
a  tremendous  hauteur  and  killing  coolness  of  demeanour, 
that  you  might  have  fancied  I  was  an  Earl  at  least,  and 
he  a  menial  upon  whom  I  trampled.  Whereas  he  was  a 
simple,  good-natured  creature  who  had  no  idea  of  insult- 
ing or  slighting  me,  and,  indeed,  scarcely  any  idea  about 
any  subject,  except  racing  and  shooting.  Young  men 
have  this  uneasiness  in  society,  because  they  are  thinking 
about  themselves:  Fogies  are  happy  and  tranquil,  be- 
cause they  are  taking  advantage  of,  and  enjoying,  with- 
out suspicion,  the  good-nature  and  good  offices  of  other 
well-bred  people. 

Have  you  not  often  wished  for  yourself,  or  some  other 
dear  friend,  ten  thousand  a  year?  It  is  natural  that  you 
should  like  such  a  good  thing  as  ten  thousand  a  year; 
and  all  the  pleasures  and  comforts  which  it  brings.  So 
also  it  is  natural  that  a  man  should  like  the  society  of 
people  well-to-do  in  the  world;  who  make  their  houses 
pleasant,  who  gather  pleasant  persons  about  them,  who 
have  fine  pictures  on  their  walls,  jDleasant  books  in  their 
libraries,  pleasant  parks  and  town  and  country  houses, 
good  cooks  and  good  cellars:  if  I  were  coming  to  dine 
with  you,  I  would  rather  have  a  good  dinner  than  a  bad 
one;  if  so-and-so  is  as  good  as  you  and  possesses  these 


THE   BENEFITS   OF   BEING  A  FOGY  141 

things,  he,  in  so  far,  is  better  than  you  who  do  not  pos- 
sess them :  therefore  I  had  rather  go  to  his  house  in  Bel- 
gravia  than  to  your  lodgings  in  Kentish  Town.  That  is 
the  rationale  of  living  in  good  company.  An  absurd, 
conceited,  high-and-mighty  young  man  hangs  back,  at 
once  insolent  and  bashful ;  an  honest,  simple,  quiet,  easy, 
clear-sighted  Fogy  stej)s  in  and  takes  the  goods  which 
the  gods  provide,  without  elation  as  without  squeam- 
ishness. 

It  is  only  a  few  men  who  attain  simplicity  in  early 
life.  This  man  has  his  conceited  self-importance  to  be 
cured  of;  that  has  his  conceited  bashfulness  to  be  "  taken 
out  of  him,"  as  the  phrase  is.  You  have  a  disquiet  which 
you  try  to  hide,  and  you  put  on  a  haughty  guarded 
manner.  You  are  suspicious  of  the  good-will  of  the 
company  round  about  you,  or  of  the  estimation  in  which 
they  hold  you.  You  sit  mum  at  table.  It  is  not  your 
place  to  "  put  yourself  forward."  You  are  thinking 
about  yourself,  that  is;  you  are  suspicious  about  that 
personage  and  everybody  else:  that  is,  you  are  not  frank; 
that  is,  you  are  not  well-bred ;  that  is,  you  are  not  agree- 
able. I  would  instance  my  young  friend  IMumford  as  a 
painful  example — one  of  the  wittiest,  cheeriest,  clev- 
erest, and  most  honest  of  fellows  in  his  own  circle;  but 
having  the  honour  to  dine  the  other  day  at  Mr.  Hoba- 
nob's,  where  his  Excellency  the  Crimean  Minister  and 
several  gentlemen  of  humour  and  wit  were  assembled, 
IMumford  did  not  open  his  mouth  once  for  the  purposes 
of  conversation,  but  sat  and  ate  his  dinner  as  silently  as 
a  brother  of  La  Trappe. 

He  was  thinking  with  too  much  distrust  of  himself 
( and  of  others  by  consequence )  as  Toplady  was  thinking 
of  himself  in  the  little  affair  in  Hyde  Park  to  which  I 


142  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

have  alluded  in  the  former  chapter.  When  Mumford 
is  an  honest  Fogy,  like  some  folks,  he  will  neither  dis- 
trust his  host,  nor  his  company,  nor  himself ;  he  will  make 
the  best  of  the  hour  and  the  people  round  about  him ;  he 
will  scorn  tumbling  over  head  and  heels  for  his  dinner, 
but  he  will  take  and  give  his  part  of  the  good  things,  join 
in  the  talk  and  laugh  unaffectedly,  nay,  actually  tumble 
over  head  and  heels,  perhaps,  if  he  has  a  talent  that  way ; 
not  from  a  wish  to  show  off  his  powers,  but  from  a  sheer 
good-humour  and  desire  to  oblige.  Whether  as  guest  or 
as  entertainer,  your  part  and  business  in  society  is  to 
make  ])eo])\e  as  happy  and  as  easy  as  you  can ;  the  master 
gives  you  his  best  wine  and  welcome— you  give,  in  your 
turn,  a  smiling  face,  a  disposition  to  be  pleased  and  to 
please;  and  my  good  young  friend  who  read  this,  don't 
doubt  about  j^ourself ,  or  think  about  your  precious  per- 
son. When  you  have  got  on  your  best  coat  and  waist- 
coat, and  have  your  dandy  shirt  and  tie  arranged— con- 
sider these  as  so  many  settled  things,  and  go  forward  and 
through  your  business. 

That  is  why  people  in  what  is  called  the  great  w^orld 
are  commonly  better  bred  than  persons  less  fortunate  in 
their  condition:  not  that  they  are  better  in  reality,  but 
from  circumstances  they  are  never  uneasy  about  their 
position  in  the  world :  therefore  they  are  more  honest  and 
simple:  therefore  they  are  better  bred  than  Growler, 
who  scowls  at  the  great  man  a  defiance  and  a  determina- 
tion that  he  will  7iot  be  trampled  upon:  or  poor  Fawner, 
who  goes  quivering  down  on  his  knees,  and  licks  my 
lord's  shoes.  But  I  think  in  our  w^orld— at  least  in 
my  experience— there  are  even  more  Growlers  than 
Fawners. 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  above  remark,  that  a  desire  to 


THE   BENEFITS   OF  BEING  A  FOGY  143 

shine  or  to  occiij)y  a  marked  place  in  society  does  not 
constitute  my  idea  of  happiness,  or  become  the  character 
of  a  discreet  Fogy.  Time,  which  has  dimmed  the  lustre 
of  his  waistcoats,  allayed  the  violence  of  his  feelings,  and 
sobered  down  his  head  with  grey,  should  give  to  the 
whole  of  his  life  a  quiet  neutral  tinge ;  out  of  which  calm 
and  reposeful  condition  an  honest  old  Fogy  looks  on  the 
world,  and  the  struggle  there  of  women  and  men.  I 
doubt  whether  this  is  not  better  than  struggling  your- 
self, for  you  preserve  your  interest  and  do  not  lose  your 
temper.  Succeeding?  What  is  the  great  use  of  succeed- 
ing? Failing?  Where  is  the  great  harm?  It  seems  to 
you  a  matter  of  vast  interest  at  one  time  of  your  life 
whether  you  shall  be  a  lieutenant  or  a  colonel— whether 
you  shall  or  shall  not  be  invited  to  the  Duchess's  party 
— whether  you  shall  get  the  place  you  and  a  hundred 
other  competitors  are  trying  for — whether  INIiss  will 
have  you  or  not :  what  the  deuce  does  it  all  matter  a  few 
years  afterwards?  Do  you,  Jones,  mean  to  intimate  a 
desire  that  History  should  occupy  herself  with  your  pal- 
try personality  ?  The  Future  does  not  care  whether  you 
were  a  captain  or  a  private  soldier.  You  get  a  card  to 
the  Duchess's  party :  it  is  no  more  or  less  than  a  ball,  or 
a  breakfast,  like  other  balls  or  breakfasts.  You  are  half- 
distracted  because  INIiss  won't  have  you  and  takes  the 
other  fellow,  or  you  get  her  (as  I  did  INIrs.  Pacifico) 
and  find  that  she  is  quite  a  diiFerent  thing  from  what 
you  expected.  Psha!  These  things  appear  as  nought 
—when  Time  passes— Time  the  consoler— Time  the 
anodyne — Time  the  grey  calm  satirist,  whose  sad 
smile  seems  to  say,  Look,  O  man,  at  the  vanity  of 
the  objects  you  pursue,  and  of  yourself  who  pursue 
them! 


144  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

But,  on  the  one  hand,  if  there  is  an  alloj^  in  all 
success,  is  there  not  a  something  wholesome  in  all  disap- 
pointment ?  To  endeavour  to  regard  them  both  benevo- 
lently, is  the  task  of  a  philosopher ;  and  he  who  can  do  so 
is  a  very  lucky  Fogy. 


HILD'S 
PARTIES: 


AND    A    REMONSTRANCE    CONCERNING    THEM 


SIR,— As  your  publication  finds  Its  way  to  almost 
every  drawing-room  table  in  this  metropolis,  and  is 
read  by  the  young  and  old  In  every  family,  I  beseech  you 
to  give  admission  to  the  remonstrance  of  an  unhappy 
parent,  and  to  endeavour  to  put  a  stop  to  a  practice  which 
appears  to  me  to  be  Increasing  daily,  and  Is  likely  to 
operate  most  injuriously  upon  the  health,  morals,  and 
comfort  of  society  In  general. 

The  awful  spread  of  Juvenile  Parties,  sir,  is  the  fact 
to  which  I  would  draw  your  attention.  There  Is  no  end 
to  those  entertainments,  and  if  the  custom  be  not  speed- 
ily checked,  people  will  be  obliged  to  fly  from  London 

^  Addressed  to  Mr.  Punch. 


146  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

at  Christmas,  and  hide  their  children  during  the  holidaySc 
I  gave  mine  warning  in  a  speech  at  breakfast  this  day, 
and  said  with  tears  in  my  eyes  that  if  the  Juvenile  Party 
system  went  on,  I  would  take  a  house  at  JNIargate  next 
winter,  for  that,  by  heavens!  I  could  not  bear  another 
Juvenile  Season  in  London. 

If  they  would  but  transfer  Innocents'  Da}^  to  the  sum- 
mer holidays,  and  let  the  children  have  their  pleasures 
in  May  or  June,  we  might  get  on.  But  now  in  this  most 
ruthless  and  cut-throat  season  of  sleet,  thaw,  frost,  wind, 
snow,  mud,  and  sore  throats,  it  is  quite  a  tempting  of 
fate  to  be  going  much  abroad ;  and  this  is  the  time  of  all 
others  that  is  selected  for  the  amusement  of  our  little 
darlings. 

As  the  first  step  towards  the  remedying  of  the  evil  of 
which  I  complain,  I  am  obliged  to  look  3Ir.  Punch  him- 
self in  his  venerable  beard,  and  say,  "  You,  sir,  have,  by 
your  agents,  caused  not  a  little  of  the  mischief.  I  desire 
that,  during  Christmas  time  at  least,  Mr.  Leech  should 
be  abolished,  or  sent  to  take  a  holiday.  Judging  from 
his  sketches,  I  should  say  that  he  must  be  endowed  with 
a  perfectly  monstrous  organ  of  philoprogenitiveness ;  he 
revels  in  the  delineation  of  the  dearest  and  most  beautiful 
little  boys  and  girls  in  turn-down  collars  and  broad 
sashes,  and  produces  in  your  Almanack  a  picture  of  a 
child's  costume  ball,  in  which  he  has  made  the  little 
wretches  in  the  dresses  of  every  age,  and  looking  so 
happy,  beautiful,  and  charming,  that  I  have  carefully 
kept  the  picture  from  the  sight  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren of  my  own  household,  and— I  will  not  say  burned 
it,  for  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  that— but  locked  it  away 
privately,  lest  they  should  conspire  to  have  a  costume 
ball  themselves,  and  little  Polly  should  insist  upon  ap- 


CHILD'S  PARTIES  147 

pearing  in  the  dress  of  Anne  Boleyne,  or  little  Jacky 
upon  turning  out  as  an  ancient  Briton." 

An  odious,  revolting  and  disagreeable  practice,  sir,  I 
say,  ought  not  to  be  described  in  a  manner  so  atrociously 
pleasing.  The  real  satirist  has  no  right  to  lead  the  public 
astray  about  the  Juvenile  Fete  nuisance,  and  to  describe 
a  child's  ball  as  if  it  was  a  sort  of  Paradise,  and  the  little 
imps  engaged  as  happy  and  pretty  as  so  many  cherubs. 
They  should  be  drawn,  one  and  all,  as  hideous — disa- 
greeable— distorted — affected— jealous  of  each  other 
— dancing  awkwardly — with  shoes  too  tight  for  them 
— over-eating  themselves  at  supper — very  unwell  (and 
deservedly  so)  the  next  morning,  with  Mamma  admin- 
istering a  mixture  made  after  the  Doctor's  prescription, 
— and  which  should  be  painted  awfully  black,  in  an  im- 
mense large  teacup,  and  (as  might  be  shown  by  the  hor- 
rible expression  on  the  little  patient's  face)  of  the  most 
disgusting  flavour.  Banish,  I  say,  that  INIr.  Leech  dur- 
ing Christmas  time,  at  least;  for,  by  a  misplaced  kind- 
ness and  absurd  fondness  for  children,  he  is  likely  to  do 
them  and  their  parents  an  incalculable  quantity  of  harm. 

As  every  man,  sir,  looks  at  the  world  out  of  his  own 
eyes  or  spectacles,  or,  in  other  words,  speaks  of  it  as  he 
finds  it  himself,  I  will  lay  before  you  my  own  case,  being 
perfectly  sure  that  many  another  parent  will  sympathize 
with  me.  My  family,  already  inconveniently  large,  is 
yet  constantly  on  the  increase,  and  it  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion that  JMrs.  Spec  ^  should  go  to  parties,  as  that  admir- 
able woman  has  the  best  of  occupations  at  home ;  where 
she  is  always  nursing  the  baby.  Hence  it  becomes  the 
father's  duty  to  accompany  his  children  abroad,  and  to 
give  them  pleasure  during  the  holidays. 

^  A  name  sometimes  assumed  by  the  writer  in  his  contributions  to  Punch. 


148  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Our  own  place  of  residence  is  in  South  Carolina  Place, 
Clapham  Road  North,  in  one  of  the  most  healthy  of  the 
suburbs  of  this  great  City.  But  our  relatives  and  ac- 
quaintances are  numerous;  and  they  are  spread  all  over 
the  town  and  its  outskirts.  Mrs  S.  has  sisters  married, 
and  dwelling  respectively  in  Islington,  Haverstock  Hill, 
Bedford  Place,  Upper  Baker  Street,  and  Tyburn  Gar- 
dens; besides  the  children's  grandmother,  Kensington 
Gravel  Pits,  whose  parties  we  are  all  of  course  obliged 
to  attend.  A  very  great  connexion  of  ours,  and  nearly 
related  to  a  B-r-n-t  and  ]M.  P.,  lives  not  a  hundred  miles 
from  B-lg-ve  Square.  I  could  enumerate  a  dozen  more 
places  where  our  kinsmen  or  intimate  friends  are— heads 
of  families  every  one  of  them,  with  their  quivers  more  or 
less  full  of  little  arrows. 

What  is  the  consequence?  I  herewith  send  it  to  you 
in  the  shape  of  these  eighteen  enclosed  notes,  written  in 
various  styles  more  or  less  correct  and  corrected,  from 
ISIiss  Fanny's,  aged  seven,  who  hopes  in  round  hand, 
that  her  dear  cousins  will  come  and  drink  tea  with  her  on 
New  Year's  eve,  her  birthday, — to  that  of  the  Governess 
of  the  B-r-n-t  in  question,  who  requests  the  pleasure  of 
our  company  at  a  ball,  a  conjuror,  and  a  Christmas  Tree. 
Mrs.  Spec,  for  the  valid  reason  above  stated,  cannot  fre- 
quent these  meetings:  I  am  the  deplorable  chaperon  of 
the  young  people.  I  am  called  upon  to  conduct  my  fam- 
ily five  miles  to  tea  at  six  o'clock.  No  count  is  taken 
of  our  personal  habits,  hours  of  dinner,  or  intervals  of 
rest.  We  are  made  the  victims  of  an  infantile  conspir- 
acy, nor  will  the  lady  of  the  house  hear  of  any  revolt  or 
denial. 

"  Why,"  says  she,  with  the  spirit  which  becomes  a 
woman  and  mother,  "  you  go  to  your  mans  parties 


CHILD'S  PARTIES  149 

eagerly  enough :  what  an  unnatural  wretch  you  must  be 
to  grudge  your  children  then-  pleasures!"  She  looks 
round,  sweeps  all  six  of  them  into  her  arms,  whilst  the 
baby  on  her  lap  begins  to  bawl,  and  you  are  assailed  by 
seven  pairs  of  imploring  eyes,  against  which  there  is  no 
appeal.  You  must  go.  If  you  are  dying  of  lumbago, 
if  you  are  engaged  to  the  best  of  dinners,  if  j^ou  are  long- 
ing to  stop  at  home  and  read  Macaulay,  you  must  give 
up  all  and  go. 

And  it  is  not  to  one  party  or  two,  but  to  almost  all. 
You  must  go  to  the  Gravel  Pits,  otherwise  the  grand- 
mother will  cut  the  children  out  of  her  will,  and  leave  her 
property  to  her  other  grandchildren.  If  you  refuse  Is- 
lington, and  accept  Tyburn  Gardens,  you  sneer  at  a  poor 
relation,  and  acknowledge  a  rich  one  readily  enough. 
If»  you  decline  Tyburn  Gardens,  you  fling  away  the 
chances  of  the  poor  dear  children  in  life,  and  the  hopes 
of  the  cadetship  for  little  Jacky.  If  you  go  to  Hamp- 
stead,  having  declined  Bedford  Place,  it  is  because  you 
never  refuse  an  invitation  to  Hampstead,  where  they 
make  much  of  you,  and  Miss  Maria  is  pretty,  (as  you 
think,  though  your  wife  doesn't, )  and  do  not  care  for  the 
Doctor  in  Bedford  Place.  And  if  you  accept  Bedford 
Place,  you  dare  not  refuse  Upper  Baker  Street,  because 
there  is  a  coolness  between  the  two  families,  and  you 
must  on  no  account  seem  to  take  part  with  one  or  the 
other. 

In  this  way  many  a  man  besides  myself,  I  dare  say, 
finds  himself  miserably  tied  down,  and  a  helpless  pris- 
oner, like  Gulliver  in  the  hands  of  the  Lilliputians.  Let 
us  just  enumerate  a  few  of  the  miseries  of  the  pitiable 
parental  slave. 

In  the  first  place,  examine  the  question  in  a  pecuniary 


150  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

point  of  view.    The  expenses  of  children's  toilets  at  this 
present  time  are  perfectly  frightful. 

My  eldest  boy,  Gustavus,  at  home  from  Dr.  Birch's 
Academy,  Rodwell  Regis,  wears  turquoise  studs,  fine 
linen  shirts,  white  waistcoats,  and  shiny  boots :  and,  when 
I  proposed  that  he  should  go  to  a  party  in  Berlin  gloves, 
asked  me  if  I  wished  that  he  should  be  mistaken  for  a 
footman?  My  second,  Augustus,  grumbles  about  get- 
ting his  elder  brother's  clothes,  nor  could  he  be  brought  to 
accommodate  himself  to  Gustavus's  waistcoats  at  all,  had 
not  his  mother  coaxed  him  by  the  loan  of  her  chain  and 
watch,  which  latter  the  child  broke  after  many  desperate 
attempts  to  wind  it  up.  As  for  the  little  fellow,  Adol- 
phus,  his  mother  has  him  attired  in  a  costume  partly 
Scotch,  partly  Hungarian,  mostly  buttons,  and  with  a 
Louis  Quatorze  hat  and  scarlet  feather,  and  she  curls 
this  child's  hair  with  her  own  blessed  tongs  eveiy  night. 

I  wish  she  would  do  as  much  for  the  girls,  though :  but 
no,  Monsieur  Floridor  must  do  that:  and  accordingly, 
every  day  this  season,  that  abominable  little  Frenchman, 
who  is,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  Red  Republican,  and  smells 
of  cigars  and  hair-oil,  comes  over,  and,  at  a  cost  of 
eighteenpence  par  tete,  figs  out  my  little  creatures'  heads 
with  fixature,  bandoline,  crinoline— the  deuce  knows 
what. 

The  bill  for  silk  stockings,  sashes,  white  frocks,  is  so 
enormous,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  pay  my  own 
tailor  these  three  years. 

The  bill  for  flys  to  'Amstid  and  back,  to  Hizzlington 
and  take  up,  &c.,  is  fearful.  The  drivers,  in  this  extra 
weather,  must  be  paid  extra,  and  they  drink  extra.  Hav- 
ing to  go  to  Hackney  in  the  snow,  on  the  night  of  the 
5th  of  January,  our  man  was  so  hopelessly  inebriated, 


CHILD'S  PARTIES 


151 


that  I  was  compelled  to  get  out  and  drive  myself ;  and  I 
am  now,  on  what  is  called  Twelfth  Day  (with,  of  course, 
another  child's  part}^  before  me  for  the  evening) ,  writing 
this  from  my  bed,  sir,  with  a  severe  cold,  a  violent  tooth- 
ache, and  a  most  acute  rheumatism. 

As  I  hear  the  knock  of  our  medical  man,  whom  an 
ary.ious  wife  has  called  in,  I  close  this  letter;  asking 
lea^e,  however,  if  I  survive,  to  return  to  this  painful  sub- 
ject next  week.  And,  wishing  you  a  merry!  New  Year, 
I  have  the  honour  to  be,  dear  Mr.  Punch, 

Your  constant  reader, 

Spec. 


II 


ONCEIVE,  Sir,  that  in  spite  of 
my  warning  and  entreaty  we 
were  invited  to  no  less  than  three 
Child's  Parties  last  Tuesday ;  to 
two  of  which  a  lady  in  this 
house,  who  shall  be  nameless,  de- 
sired that  her  children  should 
be  taken.  On  Wednesday  we 
had  Dr.  Lens's  microscope ;  and 
on  Thursday  you  w^re  good 
enough  to  send  me  your  box  for  the  Haymarket  The- 
atre; and  of  course  Mrs.  S.  and  the  children  are  ex- 
tremely obliged  to  you  for  the  attention.  I  did  not 
mind  the  theatre  so  much.  I  sat  in  the  back  of  the  box, 
and  fell  asleep.  I  Avish  there  was  a  room  with  easy 
chair  and  silence  enjoined,  whither  parents  might  re- 
tire, in  the  houses  where  Children's  Parties  arc  given. 


152  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

But  no— it  would  be  of  no  use:  the  fiddling  and  piano- 
forte-playing and  scuffling  and  laughing  of  the  children 
would  keep  you  awake. 

I  am  looking  out  in  the  papers  for  some  eligible 
schools  where  there  shall  be  no  vacations— I  can't  bear 
these  festivities  much  longer.  I  begin  to  hate  children 
in  their  evening  dresses:  when  children  are  attired  in 
those  absurd  best  clothes,  what  can  you  expect  from 
them  but  affectation  and  airs  of  fashion?  One  day  last 
year,  sir,  having  to  conduct  the  two  young  ladies  who 
then  frequented  juvenile  parties,  I  found  them,  upon 
entering  the  fly,  into  which  they  had  preceded  me  under 
convoy  of  their  maid — I  found  them — in  what  a  condi- 
tion,  think  vou  ?  Why,  with  the  skirts  of  their  stiff  mus- 
lin  frocks  actually  thrown  over  their  heads,  so  that  they 
should  not  crumple  in  the  carriage !  A  child  who  cannot 
go  into  society  but  with  a  muslin  frock  in  this  position, 
I  say,  had  best  stay  in  the  nurserj'-  in  her  pinafore.  If 
you  are  not  able  to  enter  the  world  with  your  dress  in 
its  proper  place,  I  say  stay  at  home.  I  blushed,  sir,  to 
see  that  Mrs.  S.  didn't  blush  when  I  informed  her  of  this 
incident,  but  only  laughed  in  a  strange  indecorous  man- 
ner, and  said  that  the  girls  must  keep  their  dresses  neat. 
— Neatness  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  should  have 
thought  Neatness  would  wear  her  frock  in  the  natural 
way. 

And  look  at  the  children  when  they  arrive  at  their 
place  of  destination ;  what  processes  of  coquetrj^  they  are 
made  to  go  through !  They  are  first  carried  into  a  room 
where  there  are  pins,  combs,  looking-glasses,  and  lady's- 
maids,  who  shake  the  children's  ringlets  out,  spread 
abroad  their  great  immense  sashes  and  ribbons,  and 
finally  send  them  full  sail  into  the  dancing-room.    With 


CHILD'S   PARTIES  153 

what  a  monstrous  precocity  they  ogle  their  own  faces  in 
the  looking-glasses ;  I  have  seen  my  boys,  Gustavus  and 
Adolphus,  grin  into  the  glass,  and  arrange  their  curls  or 
the  ties  of  their  neckcloths  with  as  much  eagerness  as  any 
grown-up  man  could  show,  who  was  going  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  lady  of  his  heart.  With  what  an  abominable  com- 
placency they  get  out  their  little  gloves,  and  examine 
their  silk  stockings!  How  can  they  be  natural  or  un- 
affected when  they  are  so  preposterously  conceited  about 
their  fine  clothes?  The  other  day  we  met  one  of  Gus's 
schoolfellows,  INIaster  Chaffers,  at  a  party,  who  entered 
the  room  with  a  little  gibus  hat  under  his  arm,  and  to  be 
sure  made  his  bow  with  the  aplomb  of  a  dancing-master 
of  sixty;  and  my  boys,  who  I  suspect  envied  their  com- 
rade the  gibus  hat,  began  to  giggle  and  sneer  at  him; 
and,  further  to  disconcert  him,  Gus  goes  up  to  him  and 
says,  "  Why,  Chaffers,  you  consider  yourself  a  deuced 
fine  fellow,  but  there's  a  straw  on  your  trousers."  Why 
shouldn't  there  be  ?  And  why  should  that  poor  little  boy 
be  called  upon  to  blush  because  he  came  to  a  party  in  a 
hack-cab?  I,  for  my  part,  ordered  the  children  to  walk 
home  on  that  night,  in  order  to  punish  them  for  their 
pride.  It  rained.  Gus  wet  and  spoiled  his  shiny  boots, 
Dol  got  a  cold,  and  my  wife  scolded  me  for  cruelty. 

As  to  the  airs  which  the  wretches  give  themselves 
about  dancing,  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  them  here,  for 
the  dangerous  artist  of  the  "  Rising  Generation  "  has 
already  taken  them  in  hand.  Not  that  his  satire  does  the 
children  the  least  good:  they  don't  see  anything  absurd 
in  courting  pretty  girls,  or  in  asserting  the  superiority 
of  their  own  sex  over  the  female.  A  few  nights  since,  I 
saw  Master  Sultan  at  a  juvenile  ball,  standing  at  the 
door  of  the  dancing-room,  egregiously  displaying  his 


154  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

muslin  pocket-handkerchief,  and  waving  it  about  as  if 
he  was  in  doubt  to  which  of  the  young  beauties  he  should 
cast  it.    "  Why  don't  you  dance,  Master  Sultan?  "  says 
I.     "  My  good  sir,"  he  answered,  "  just  look  round  at 
those  girls  and  say  if  I  can  dance? "    Blase  and  selfish 
now,  what  will  that  boy  be,  sir,  when  his  whiskers  grow? 
And  when  you  think  how  Mrs.  Mainchance  seeks  out 
rich  partners  for  her  little  boys— how  my  own  admirable 
Eliza  has  warned  her  children—"  My  dears,  I  would 
rather  you  should  dance  with  your  Brown  cousins  than 
your  Jones  cousins,"  who  are  a  little  rough  in  their  man- 
ners (the  fact  being,  that  our  sister  JNlaria  Jones  lives  at 
Islington,  while  Fanny  Brown  is  an  Upper  Baker  Street 
lady)  ;— when  I  have  heard  my  dear  wife,  I  say,  instruct 
our  boy,  on  going  to  a  party  at  the  Baronet's,  by  no 
means  to  neglect  his  cousin  Adeliza,  but  to  dance  with 
her  as  soon  as  ever  he  can  engage  her— what  can  I  say, 
sir,  but  that  the  world  of  men  and  boys  is  the  same— that 
society  is  poisoned   at  its  source— and  that  our  little 
chubby-cheeked  cherubim  are  instructed  to  be  artful  and 
egotistical,  when  you  would  think  by  their  faces  they 
were  just  fresh  from  heaven. 

Among  the  very  little  children,  I  confess  I  get  a  con- 
solation as  I  watch  them,  in  seeing  the  artless  little  girls 
walking  after  the  boys  to  whom  they  incline,  and  court- 
ing them  by  a  hundred  innocent  little  wiles  and  caresses, 
putting  out  their  little  hands  and  inviting  them  to  dances, 
seeking  them  out  to  pull  crackers  with  them,  and  beg- 
ging them  to  read  the  mottoes,  and  so  forth— this  is  as 
it  should  be— this  is  natural  and  kindly.  The  women, 
by  rights,  ought  to  court  the  men ;  and  they  would  if  we 
but  left  them  alone. ^ 

1  On  our  friend's  manuscript  there  is  written,  in  a  female  handwriting, 
"Vulgar,  immodest. — E.  S." 


CHILD'S  PARTIES  155 

And,  absurd  as  the  games  are,  I  own  I  like  to  see  some 
thirty  or  forty  of  the  creatures  on  the  floor  in  a  ring, 
playing  at  petits  jeux,  of  all  ages  and  sexes,  from  the 
most  insubordinate  infanthood  of  ISIaster  Jacky,  who 
will  crawl  out  of  the  circle,  and  talks  louder  than  any- 
body in  it,  though  he  can't  speak,  to  blushing  ^liss  Lily, 
who  is  just  conscious  that  she  is  sixteen— I  own,  I  say, 
that  I  can't  look  at  such  a  circlet  or  chaplet  of  children, 
as  it  were,  in  a  hundred  different  colours,  laughing  and 
happy,  without  a  sort  of  pleasure.  How  they  laugh, 
how  they  twine  together,  how  they  wave  about,  as  if  the 
wind  was  passing  over  the  flowers!  Poor  little  buds, 
shall  you  bloom  long?—  (I  then  say  to  myself,  by  way 
of  keeping  up  a  proper  frame  of  mind)  —shall  frosts  nip 
you,  or  tempests  scatter  you,  drought  wither  you,  or 
rain  beat  you  down?  And  oppressed  with  my  feelings, 
I  go  below  and  get  some  of  the  weak  negus  with  which 
Children's  Parties  are  refreshed. 

At  those  houses  where  the  magic  lantern  is  practised, 
I  still  sometimes  get  a  degree  of  pleasure,  by  hearing 
the  voices  of  the  children  in  the  dark,  and  the  absurd  re- 
marks which  they  make  as  the  various  scenes  are  pre- 
sented—as, in  the  dissolving  views,  Cornhill  changes 
into  Grand  Cairo,  as  Cupid  comes  down  with  a  wreath, 
and  pops  it  onto  the  head  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
as  Saint  Peter's  at  Rome  suddenly  becomes  illuminated, 
and  fireworks,  not  the  least  like  real  fireworks,  begin  to 
go  off  from  Fort  St.  Angelo— it  is  certainly  not  un- 
pleasant to  hear  the  "  o-o-o's  "  of  the  audience,  and  the 
little  children  chattering  in  the  darkness.  But  I  think 
I  used  to  like  the  "  Pull  devil,  pull  baker,"  and  the  Doc- 
tor Syntax  of  our  youth,  much  better  than  all  your  new- 
fangled, dissolving  views  and  pyrotechnic  imitations. 

As  for  the  conjuror,  I  am  sick  of  him.    There  is  one 


156  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

conjuror  I  have  met  so  often  during  this  year  and  the 
last,  that  the  man  looks  quite  guilty  when  the  folding 
doors  are  opened  and  he  sees  my  party  of  children,  and 
myself  amongst  the  seniors  in  the  back  rows.  He  for- 
gets his  jokes  when  he  beholds  me:  his  wretched  clap- 
traps and  waggeries  fail  him:  he  trembles,  falters,  and 
turns  pale. 

I  on  my  side  too  feel  reciprocally  uneasy.  What  right 
have  we  to  be  staring  that  creature  out  of  his  silly  coun- 
tenance? Very  likely  he  has  a  wife  and  family  depen- 
dent for  their  bread  upon  his  antics.  I  should  be  glad 
to  admire  them  if  I  could ;  but  how  do  so  ?  When  I  see 
him  squeeze  an  orange  or  a  cannon-ball  right  away  into 
nothing,  as  it  were,  or  multiply  either  into  three  cannon- 
balls  or  oranges,  I  know  the  others  are  in  his  pocket 
somewhere.  I  know  that  he  doesn't  put  out  his  eye  when 
he  sticks  the  penknife  into  it:  or  that  after  swallowing 
(as  the  miserable  humbug  pretends  to  do)  a  pocket- 
handkerchief,  he  cannot  by  any  possibility  convert  it 
into  a  quantity  of  coloured  wood-shavings.  These  flimsy 
articles  may  amuse  children,  but  not  us.  I  think  I  shall 
go  and  sit  down  below  amongst  the  servants  whilst  this 
wretched  man  pursues  his  idiotic  delusions  before  the 
children. 

And  the  supper,  sir,  of  which  our  darlings  are  made 
to  partake.  Have  they  dined?  I  ask.  Do  they  have  a 
supper  at  home,  and  why  do  not  they?  Because  it  is  un- 
wholesome. If  it  is  unwholesome,  why  do  they  have 
supper  at  all?  I  have  mentioned  the  wretched  quality 
of  the  negus.  Hoav  they  can  administer  such  stuff  to 
children  I  can't  think.  Though  only  last  week  I  heard 
a  little  boy.  Master  Swilbj^  at  Miss  Waters',  say  that 
he  had  drunk  nine  glasses  of  it,  and  eaten  I  don't  know 


CHILD'S  PARTIES  157 

how  many  tasteless  sandwiches  and  insipid  cakes;  after 
which  feats  he  proposed  to  fight  my  youngest  son. 

As  for  that  Christmas  Tree,  which  we  have  from  the 
Germans — anybody  who  knows  what  has  happened  to 
thein  may  judge  what  will  befall  us  from  following  their 
absurd  customs.  Are  we  to  put  up  pine-trees  in  our 
parlours,  with  wax-candles  and  bonbons,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  ancient  Druids?    Are  we     .     .     .? 

.  .  My  dear  sir,  my  manuscript  must  here  abi*uptly 
terminate.  Mrs.  S.  has  just  come  into  my  study,  and 
my  daughter  enters,  grinning  behind  her,  with  twenty- 
five  little  notes,  announcing  that  JNIaster  and  INIiss  Spec 
request  the  pleasure  of  ]Miss  Brown,  ]\Iiss  F.  Brown,  and 
M.  A.  Brown's  company  on  the  25th  instant.  There  is 
to  be  a  conjuror  in  the  back  drawling-room,  a  magic 
lantern  in  my  study,  a  Christmas  Tree  in  the  dining- 
room,  dancing  in  the  drawing-room — "  And,  my  dear, 
we  can  have  whist  in  our  bed-room,"  my  wife  says. 
"  You  know  we  must  be  civil  to  those  who  have  been  so 
kind  to  our  darling  children." 

Spec. 


THE    CURATE'S   WALK 


IT  was  the  third  out  of  the  four  bell-buttons  at  the  door 
at  which  my  friend  the  Curate  pulled;  and  the  sum- 
mons was  answered  after  a  brief  interval. 

I  must  premise  that  the  house  before  which  we  stopped 
was  No.  14,  Sedan  Buildings,  leading  out  of  Great 
Guelph  Street,  Dettingen  Street,  Culloden  Street,  Min- 
den  Square;  and  Upper  and  Lower  Caroline  Row  form 
part  of  the  same  quarter— a  very  queer  and  solemn 
quarter  to  walk  in,  I  think,  and  one  which  always  sug- 

158 


THE   CURATE'S  WALK  159 

gests  Fielding's  novels  to  me.  I  can  fancy  Captain 
Booth  strutting  out  of  the  very  door  at  which  we  were 
standing,  in  tarnished  lace,  with  his  hat  cocked  over  his 
eye,  and  his  hand  on  his  hanger;  or  Lady  Bellaston's 
chair  and  bearers  coming  swinging  down  Great  Guelph 
Street,  which  we  have  just  quitted  to  enter  Sedan 
Buildings. 

Sedan  Buildings  is  a  little  flagged  square,  ending 
abruptly  with  the  huge  walls  of  Bluck's  Brewery.  The 
houses,  by  many  degrees  smaller  than  the  large  decayed 
tenements  in  Great  Guelph  Street,  are  still  not  uncom- 
fortable, although  shabby.  There  are  brass  plates  on  the 
doors,  two  on  some  of  them:  or  simple  names,  as  "  Lunt," 
"  Padgemore,"  &c.  (as  if  no  other  statement  about  Lunt 
and  Padgemore  were  necessary  at  all),  under  the  bells. 
There  are  pictures  of  mangles  before  two  of  the  houses, 
and  a  gilt  arm  with  a  hammer  sticking  out  from  one.  I 
never  saw  a  Goldbeater.  What  sort  of  a  being  is  he  that 
he  always  sticks  out  his  ensign  in  dark,  mouldy,  lonely, 
dreary,  but  somewhat  respectable  places  ?  What  power- 
ful INIulciberian  fellows  they  must  be,  those  Goldbeaters, 
whacking  and  thumping  with  huge  mallets  at  the  pre- 
cious metals  all  day.  I  wonder  what  is  Goldbeaters' 
skin?  and  do  they  get  impregnated  with  the  metal?  and 
are  their  great  arms  under  their  clean  shirts  on  Sundays, 
all  gilt  and  shining? 

It  is  a  quiet,  kind,  respectable  place  somehow,  in  spite 
of  its  shabbiness.  Two  pewter  pints  and  a  jolly  little 
half-pint  are  hanging  on  the  railings  in  perfect  confi- 
dence, basking  in  what  little  sun  comes  into  the  Court. 
A  group  of  small  children  are  making  an  ornament  of 
oyster-shells  in  one  corner.  Who  has  that  half -pint?  Is 
it  for  one  of  those  small  ones,  or  for  some  delicate  female 


160  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

recommended  to  take  beer?  The  windows  in  the  Court, 
upon  some  of  which  the  sun  ghstens,  are  not  cracked, 
and  pretty  clean ;  it  is  only  the  black  and  dreary  look  be- 
hind which  gives  them  a  poverty-stricken  appearance. 
No  curtains  or  blinds.  A  bird-cage  and  very  few  pots 
of  flowers  here  and  there.  This — with  the  exception  of 
a  milkman  talking  to  a  whitey-brown  woman,  made  up 
of  bits  of  flannel  and  strips  of  faded  chintz  and  calico 
seemingly,  and  holding  a  long  bundle  which  cried — this 
was  all  I  saw  in  Sedan  Buildings  while  we  were  waiting 
until  the  door  should  open. 

At  last  the  door  was  opened,  and  by  a  porteress  so 
small,  that  I  wonder  how  she  ever  could  have  lifted  up 
the  latch.  She  bobbed  a  curtsey,  and  smiled  at  the 
Curate,  whose  face  gleamed  with  benevolence  too,  in 
reply  to  that  salutation. 

"  Mother  not  at  home?  "  says  Frank  Whitestock,  pat- 
ting the  child  on  the  head. 

"Mother's  out  charing,  sir,"  replied  the  girl;  "but 
please  to  walk  up,  sir."  And  she  led  the  way  up  one  and 
two  pair  of  stairs  to  that  apartment  in  the  house  which 
is  called  the  second-floor  front;  in  which  was  the  abode 
of  the  charwoman. 

There  were  two  young  persons  in  the  room,  of  the 
respective  ages  of  eight  and  five,  I  should  think.  She  of 
five  years  of  age  was  hemming  a  duster,  being  perched 
on  a  chair  at  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The 
elder,  of  eight,  politely  wiped  a  chair  with  a  cloth  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  good-natured  Curate,  and 
came  and  stood  between  his  knees,  immediately  alongside 
of  his  umbrella,  which  also  reposed  there,  and  which  she 
by  no  means  equalled  in  height. 

"  These   children   attend   my   school   at   St.    Timo- 


THE   CURATE'S  WALK  161 

thy's,"  Mr.  Whitestock  said,  "  and  Betsy  keeps  the  house 
while  her  mother  is  from  home." 

Anything  cleaner  or  neater  than  this  house  it  is  im- 
possible to  conceive.  There  was  a  big  bed,  which  must 
have  been  the  resting-place  of  the  whole  of  this  little 
family.  There  were  three  or  four  religious  prints  on  the 
walls ;  besides  two  framed  and  glazed,  of  Prince  Coburg 
and  the  Princess  Charlotte.  There  were  brass  candle- 
sticks, and  a  lamb  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  a  cupboard 
in  the  corner,  decorated  with  near  half-a-dozen  plates, 
j^ellow  bowls,  and  crockery.  And  on  the  table  there  were 
two  or  three  bits  of  diy  bread,  and  a  jug  with  water,  with 
which  these  three  young  people  (it  being  then  nearly 
three  o'clock )  were  about  to  take  their  meal  called  tea. 

That  little  Betsy  who  looks  so  small  is  nearly  ten  years 
old;  and  has  been  a  mother  ever  since  the  age  of  about 
five.  I  mean  to  say,  that  her  own  mother  having  to  go  out 
upon  her  charing  operations,  Betsy  assumes  command  of 
the  room  during  her  parent's  absence :  has  nursed  her  sis- 
ters from  babyhood  up  to  the  present  time :  keeps  order 
over  them,  and  the  house  clean  as  you  see  it ;  and  goes  out 
occasionally  and  transacts  the  family  purchases  of  bread, 
moist  sugar  and  mother's  tea.  They  dine  upon  bread, 
tea  and  breakfast  upon  bread  when  they  have  it,  or  go  to 
bed  without  a  morsel.  Their  holiday  is  Sunday,  which 
they  spend  at  Church  and  Sunday-school.  The  younger 
children  scarcely  ever  go  out,  save  on  that  day,  but 
sit  sometimes  in  the  sun,  which  comes  in  pretty  pleas- 
antly: sometimes  blue  in  the  cold,  for  they  very  seldom 
see  a  fire  except  to  heat  irons  by,  when  mother  has  a 
job  of  linen  to  get  up.  Father  was  a  journeyman 
bookbinder,  who  died  four  years  ago,  and  is  buried 
amonff  thousands  and  thousands  of  the  nameless  dead 


162  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

who  lie  crowding  the  black  chiirchj^ard  of  St.  Timothy's 
parish. 

The  Curate  evidently  took  especial  pride  in  Victoria, 
the  youngest  of  these  three  children  of  the  charwoman, 
and  caused  Betsy  to  fetch  a  book  which  lay  at  the  win- 
dow, and  bade  her  read.  It  was  a  Missionary  Register 
which  the  Curate  opened  haphazard,  and  this  baby  began 
to  read  out  in  an  exceedingly  clear  and  resolute  voice 
about — 

"  The  island  of  Raritongo  is  the  least  frequented  of  all 
the  Caribbean  Archipelago.  Wankyfungo  is  at  four 
leagues  S.  E.  by  E.,  and  the  peak  of  the  crater  of  Shuag- 
nahua  is  distinctly  visible.  The  '  Irascible  '  entered 
Raritongo  Bay  on  the  evening  of  Thursday  29th,  and 
the  next  day  the  Rev.  Mr.  Flethers,  Mrs.  Flethers,  and 
their  nine  children,  and  Shangpooky,  the  native  con- 
verted at  Cacabawgo,  landed  and  took  up  their  residence 
at  the  house  of  Ratatatua,  the  Principal  Chief,  who  en- 
tertained us  with  yams  and  a  pig,"  &c.  &c,  &c. 

"  Raritongo,  Wankyfungo,  Archipelago."  I  protest 
this  little  woman  read  off  each  of  these  long  words  with 
an  ease  which  perfectly  astonished  me.  Many  a  lieuten- 
ant in  her  Majesty's  Heavies  would  be  puzzled  with 
words  half  the  length.  Whitestock,  by  way  of  reward  for 
her  scholarship,  gave  her  another  pat  on  the  head ;  having 
received  which  present  with  a  curtsey,  she  went  and 
put  the  book  back  into  the  window,  and  clambering  back 
into  the  chair,  resumed  the  hemming  of  the  blue  duster. 

I  suppose  it  was  the  smallness  of  these  people,  as  well 
as  their  singular,  neat,  and  tidy  behaviour,  which  inter- 
ested me  so.  Here  were  three  creatures  not  so  high  as 
the  table,  with  all  the  labours,  duties,  and  cares  of  life 
upon  their  little  shoulders,  working  and  doing  their  duty 


THE   CURATE'S  WALK  163 

like  the  biggest  of  my  readers ;  regular,  laborious,  cheer- 
ful,— content  with  small  pittances,  practising  a  hundred 
virtues  of  thrift  and  order. 

Elizabeth,  at  ten  3^ears  of  age,  might  Avalk  out  of  this 
house  and  take  the  command  of  a  small  establishment. 
She  can  wash,  get  up  linen,  cook,  make  purchases,  and 
buy  bargains.  If  I  were  ten  years  old  and  three  feet  in 
height,  I  would  marry  her,  and  we  would  go  and  live  in 
a  cupboard,  and  share  the  little  half -pint  pot  for  dinner. 
']Melia,  eight  years  of  age,  though  inferior  in  accomplish- 
ments to  her  sister,  is  her  equal  in  size,  and  can  wash, 
scrub,  hem,  go  errands,  put  her  hand  to  the  dinner,  and 
make  herself  generally  useful.  In  a  word,  she  is  fit  to 
be  a  little  housemaid,  and  to  make  everything  but  the 
beds,  which  she  cannot  as  yet  reach  up  to.  As  for  Vic- 
toria's qualifications,  they  have  been  mentioned  before. 
I  wonder  whether  the  Princess  Alice  can  read  off  "  Rari- 
tongo,"  &c.,  as  glibly  as  this  surprising  little  animal. 

I  asked  the  Curate's  permission  to  make  these  young 
ladies  a  present,  and  accordingly  produced  the  sum  of 
sixpence  to  be  divided  amongst  the  three.  "  What  will 
you  do  with  it? "  I  said,  laying  down  the  coin. 

They  answered,  all  three  at  once,  and  in  a  little 
chorus,  "  We'll  give  it  to  mother."  This  verdict  caused 
the  disbursement  of  another  sixpence,  and  it  was  ex- 
plained to  them  that  the  sum  was  for  their  own  private 
pleasures,  and  each  was  called  upon  to  declare  what  she 
would  purchase. 

Elizabeth  says,  "  I  would  like  twopenn'orth  of  meat, 
if  you  please,  sir." 

'Melia:  "  Ha'porth  of  treacle,  three-farthings-worth 
of  milk,  and  the  same  of  fresh  bread." 

Victoria,  speaking  very  quick,  and  gasping  in  an  agi- 


164  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

tated  manner:  "  Ha'pny — aha — orange,  and  ha'pny — 
aha — apple,  and  ha'pny — aha — treacle,  and — and — " 
here  her  imagination  failed  her.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  money. 

At  this  'IVIelia  actually  interposed,  "  Suppose  she  and 
Victoria  subscribed  a  farthing  apiece  out  of  their  money, 
so  that  Betsy  might  have  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  meat?  " 
She  added  that  her  sister  wanted  it,  and  that  it  would  do 
her  good.  Upon  my  word,  she  made  the  proposal  and 
the  calculations  in  an  instant,  and  all  of  her  own  accord. 
And  before  we  left  them,  Betsy  had  put  on  the  queerest 
little  black  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  had  a  mug  and  a  bas- 
ket ready  to  receive  the  purchases  in  question. 

Sedan  Buildings  has  a  particularly  friendly  look  to 
me  since  that  day.  Peace  be  with  you,  O  thrifty,  kindty, 
simple,  loving  little  maidens!  May  their  voyage  in  life 
prosper!  Think  of  the  great  journey  before  them,  and 
the  little  cock -boat  manned  by  babies  venturing  over  the 
great  stormy  ocean. 


THE     CURATE'S  WALK 


165 


II 

^-^  OLLOWING  the  steps  of 
little  Betsy  with  her  mug 
and  basket,  as  she  goes 
pattering  down  the  street, 
we  watch  her  into  a  gro- 
cer's shop,  where  a  star- 
tling placard  with  "Down 
Again  ! "  written  on  it 
announces  that  the  Su- 
gar Market  is  still  in  a 
depressed  condition — and 
where  she  no  doubt  nego- 
tiates the  purchase  of  a  certain  quantity  of  molasses.  A 
little  further  on,  in  Lawfeldt  Street,  is  Mr.  Filch's  fine 
silversmith's  shop,  where  a  man  may  stand  for  a  half 
hour  and  gaze  with  ravishment  at  the  beautiful  gilt  cups 
and  tankards,  the  stunning  waistcoat-chains,  the  little 
white  cushions  laid  out  with  delightful  diamond  pins, 
gold  horseshoes  and  splinter-bars,  pearl  owls,  turquoise 
lizards  and  dragons,  enamelled  monkeys,  and  all  sorts 
of  agreeable  monsters  for  your  neckcloth.  If  I  live  to 
be  a  hundred,  or  if  the  girl  of  my  heart  were  waiting  for 
me  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  never  could  pass  Mr. 
Filch's  shop  without  having  a  couple  of  minutes'  good 
stare  at  the  window.  I  like  to  fancy  myself  dressed  up 
in  some  of  the  jewellery.  "  Spec,  you  rogue,"  I  say, 
"  suppose  you  were  to  get  leave  to  wear  three  or  four  of 
those  rings  on  your  fingers;  to  stick  that  opal,  round 
which  twists  a  brilliant  serpent  with  a  ruby  head,  into 


166  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

your  blue  satin  neckcloth;  and  to  sport  that  gold  jack- 
chain  on  your  waistcoat.  You  might  walk  in  the  Park 
with  that  black  whalebone  prize  riding-whip,  which  has 
a  head  the  size  of  a  snufF-box,  surmounted  with  a  silver 
jockey  on  a  silver  race-horse;  and  what  a  sensation  you 
would  create,  if  you  took  that  large  ram's  horn  with  the 
cairngorm  top  out  of  your  pocket,  and  offered  a  pinch 
of  rappee  to  the  company  round!  "  A  little  attorney's 
clerk  is  staring  in  at  the  window,  in  whose  mind  very 
similar  ideas  are  passing.  What  would  he  not  give  to 
wear  that  gold  pin  next  Sunday  in  his  blue  hunting  neck- 
cloth? The  ball  of  it  is  almost  as  big  as  those  which  are 
painted  over  the  side  door  of  JNIr.  Filch's  shop,  which  is 
down  that  passage  which  leads  into  Trotter's  Court. 

I  have  dined  at  a  house  where  the  silver  dishes  and 
covers  came  from  Filch's,  let  out  to  their  owner  by  Mr. 
Filch  for  the  day,  and  in  charge  of  the  grave-looking 
man  whom  I  mistook  for  the  butler.  Butlers  and  ladies'- 
maids  innumerable  have  audiences  of  JNIr.  Filch  in  his 
back -parlour.  There  are  suits  of  jewels  which  he  and  his 
shop  have  knowai  for  a  half  century  past,  so  often  have 
they  been  pawned  to  him.  When  we  read  in  the  Court 
Journal  of  Lady  Fitzball's  head-dress  of  lappets  and 
superb  diamonds,  it  is  because  the  jewels  get  a  day  rule 
from  Filch's,  and  come  back  to  his  iron  box  as  soon  as 
the  drawing-room  is  over.  These  jewels  become  histor- 
ical among  pawnbrokers.  It  was  here  that  Lady 
Prigsby  brought  her  diamonds  one  evening  of  last  year, 
and  desired  hurriedly  to  raise  two  thousand  pounds  upon 
them,  when  Filch  respectfully  pointed  out  to  her  lady- 
ship that  she  had  paw^ned  the  stones  already  to  his  com- 
rade, Mr.  Tubal,  of  Charing  Cross.  And,  taking  his  hat, 
and  putting  the  case  under  his  arm,  he  went  with  her 


THE   CURATE'S   WALK  1G7 

ladyship  to  the  hack-cab  in  which  she  had  driven  to  Law- 
feldt  Street,  entered  the  vehicle  with  her,  and  they  drove 
in  silence  to  the  back  entrance  of  her  mansion  in  JVIon- 
mouth  Square,  where  Mr.  Tubal's  young  man  was  still 
seated  in  the  hall,  waiting  until  her  ladyship  should  be 
undressed. 

We  walked  round  the  splendid  shining  shop  and  down 
the  passage,  which  would  be  dark  but  that  the  gas-lit 
door  is  always  swinging  to  and  fro,  as  the  people  who 
come  to  pawn  go  in  and  out.  You  may  be  sm-e  there  is 
a  gin-shop  handy  to  all  pawnbrokers'. 

A  lean  man  in  a  dingy  dress  is  walking  lazily  up  and 
down  the  flags  of  Trotter's  Court.  His  ragged  trousers 
trail  in  the  slimy  mud  there.  The  doors  of  the  pawn- 
broker's, and  of  the  gin-shop  on  the  other  side,  are  bang- 
ing to  and  fro :  a  little  girl  comes  out  of  the  former,  with 
a  tattered  old  handkerchief,  and  goes  up  and  gives  some- 
thing to  the  dingy  man.  It  is  ninepence,  just  raised  on 
his  waistcoat.  The  man  bids  the  child  to  "  cut  away 
home,"  and  w^hen  she  is  clear  out  of  the  court,  he  looks 
at  us  wdth  a  lurking  scowl  and  walks  into  the  gin-shop 
doors,  which  swing  always  opposite  the  pawnbroker's 
shop. 

Why  should  he  have  sent  the  waistcoat  wrapped  in 
that  ragged  old  cloth?  Why  should  he  have  sent  the 
child  into  the  pawnbroker's  box,  and  not  have  gone  him- 
self? He  did  not  choose  to  let  her  see  him  go  into  the 
gin-shop— why  drive  her  in  at  the  opposite  door?  The 
child  knows  well  enough  whither  he  is  gone.  She  might 
as  well  have  carried  an  old  waistcoat  in  her  hand  through 
the  street  as  a  ragged  napkin.  A  sort  of  vanity,  you  see, 
drapes  itself  in  that  dirty  rag ;  or  is  it  a  kind  of  debauched 
shame,  which  does  not  like  to  go  naked  ?    The  fancy  can 


168  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

follow  the  poor  girl  up  the  black  alley,  up  the  black 
stairs,  into  the  bare  room,  where  mother  and  children  are 
starving,  while  the  lazy  ragamuffin,  the  family  bully, 
is  gone  into  the  gin-shop  to  "  try  our  celebrated  Cream 
of  the  Valley,"  as  the  bill  in  red  letters  bids  him. 

"  I  waited  in  this  court  the  other  day,"  Whitestock 
said,  "  just  like  that  man,  while  a  friend  of  mine  went  in 
to  take  her  husband's  tools  out  of  pawn — an  honest  man 
— a  journeyman  shoemaker,  who  lives  hard  by."  And 
we  went  to  call  on  the  journeyman  shoemaker — Handle's 
Buildings — two-pair  back — over  a  blacking  manufac- 
tory. The  blacking  was  made  by  one  manufactor,  who 
stood  before  a  tub  stirring  up  his  produce,  a  good  deal 
of  which — and  nothing  else — was  on  the  floor.  We 
passed  through  this  emporium,  which  abutted  on  a  dank, 
steaming  little  court,  and  up  the  narrow  stair  to  the  two- 
pair  back. 

The  shoemaker  was  at  work  with  his  recovered  tools, 
and  his  wife  was  making  woman's  shoes  (an  inferior 
branch  of  the  business)  by  him.  A  shrivelled  child  was 
lying  on  the  bed  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  There  was  no 
bedstead,  and  indeed  scarcely  any  furniture,  save  the  lit- 
tle table  on  which  lay  his  tools  and  shoes— a  fair-haired, 
lank,  handsome  young  man,  with  a  wife  who  may  have 
been  pretty  once,  in  better  times,  and  before  starvation 
pulled  her  down.  She  had  but  one  thin  gown ;  it  clung 
to  a  frightfully  emaciated  little  body. 

Their  story  was  the  old  one.  The  man  had  been  in 
good  work,  and  had  the  fever.  The  clothes  had  been 
pawned,  the  furniture  and  bedstead  had  been  sold,  and 
they  slept  on  the  mattress;  the  mattress  went,  and  they 
slept  on  the  floor;  the  tools  went,  and  the  end  of  all 
things  seemed  at  hand,  when  the  gracious  apparition  of 


THE  CURATE'S  WALK  169 

the  Curate,  with  his  umbrella,  came  and  cheered  those 
stricken-down  poor  folks. 

The  journeyman  shoemaker  must  have  been  aston- 
ished at  such  a  sight.  He  is  not,  or  was  not,  a  church- 
goer. He  is  a  man  of  "  advanced  "  oj)inions ;  believing 
that  priests  are  hypocrites,  and  that  clergymen  in  gen- 
eral drive  about  in  coaches-and-four,  and  eat  a  tithe-pig 
a  day.  This  proud  priest  got  ]Mr.  Crispin  a  bed  to  lie 
upon,  and  some  soup  to  eat;  and  (being  the  treasurer  of 
certain  good  folks  of  his  parish,  whose  charities  he  admin- 
isters) as  soon  as  the  man  was  strong  enough  to  work, 
the  Curate  lent  him  money  wherewith  to  redeem  his 
tools,  and  which  our  friend  is  paying  back  by  instalments 
at  this  day.  And  any  man  who  has  seen  these  two  honest 
men  talking  together,  would  have  said  the  shoemaker 
was  the  haughtiest  of  the  two. 

We  paid  one  more  morning  visit.  This  was  with  an 
order  for  work  to  a  tailor  of  reduced  circumstances  and 
enlarged  family.  He  had  been  a  master,  and  was  now 
forced  to  take  work  by  the  job.  He  who  had  commanded 
many  men,  was  now  fallen  down  to  the  ranks  again. 
His  wife  told  us  all  about  his  misfortunes.  She  is  evi- 
dently very  proud  of  them.  "  He  failed  for  seven  thou- 
sand pounds,"  the  poor  woman  said,  three  or  four  times 
during  the  course  of  our  visit.  It  gave  her  husband  a 
sort  of  dignit}^  to  have  been  trusted  for  so  much  money. 

The  Curate  must  have  heard  that  story  many  times, 
to  which  he  now  listened  with  great  patience  in  the  tail- 
or's house— a  large,  clean,  dreary,  faint-looking  room, 
smelling  of  poverty.  Two  little  stunted,  yellow-headed 
children,  with  lean  pale  faces  and  large  protruding  ej^es, 
were  at  the  window  staring  with  all  their  might  at  Guy 
Fawkes,  who  was  passing  in  the  street,  and  making  a 


170  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

great  clattering  and  shouting  outside,  while  the  luckless 
tailor's  wife  was  prating  within  about  her  husband's  by- 
gone riches.  I  shall  not  in  a  hurry  forget  the  picture. 
The  empty  room  in  a  dreary  background;  the  tailor's 
wife  in  brown,  stalking  up  and  down  the  planks,  talking 
endlessly ;  the  solemn  children  staring  out  of  the  window 
as  the  sunshine  fell  on  their  faces,  and  honest  Whitestock 
seated,  listening,  with  the  tails  of  his  coat  through  the 
chair. 

His  business  over  wuth  the  tailor,  we  start  again; 
Frank  Whitestock  trips  through  alley  after  alley,  never 
getting  any  mud  on  his  boots,  somehow,  and  his  white 
neckcloth  making  a  wonderful  shine  in  those  shady 
places.  He  has  all  sorts  of  acquaintance,  chiefly 
amongst  the  extreme  j'^outh,  assembled  at  the  doors  or 
about  the  gutters.  There  was  one  small  person  occupied 
in  emptying  one  of  these  rivulets  with  an  oyster-shell, 
for  the  purpose,  apparently,  of  making  an  artificial  lake 
in  a  hole  hard  by,  whose  solitary  gravity  and  business  air 
struck  me  much,  while  the  Curate  was  very  deep  in  con- 
versation with  a  small  coalman.  A  half-dozen  of  her 
comrades  were  congregated  round  a  scraper  and  on  a 
grating  hard  bj^  playing  with  a  mangy  little  puppy, 
the  property  of  the  Curate's  friend. 

I  know  it  is  wrong  to  give  large  sums  of  money  away 
promiscuously,  but  I  could  not  help  dropping  a  penny 
into  the  child's  oyster-shell,  as  she  came  forward  holding 
it  before  her  like  a  tray.  At  first  her  expression  was  one 
rather  of  wonder  than  of  pleasure  at  this  influx  of  cap- 
ital, and  was  certainly  quite  worth  the  small  charge  of 
one  penny,  at  which  it  was  purchased. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  seem  to  know  what  steps  to 
take ;  but,  having  communed  in  her  own  mind,  she  pres- 


THE   CURATE'S  WALK 


171 


ently  resolved  to  turn  them  towards  a  neighbouring 
apple-stall,  in  the  direction  of  which  she  went  without  a 
single  word  of  compliment  passing  between  us.  Now, 
the  children  round  the  scraper  were  witnesses  to  the 
transaction.  "  He's  give  her  a  penny,"  one  remarked 
to  another,  with  hopes  miserably  disappointed  that  they 
might  come  in  for  a  similar  present. 

She  walked  on  to  the  apple-stall  meanwhile,  holding 
her  penny  behind  her.  And  what  did  the  other  little  ones 
do?  They  put  down  the  puppy  as  if  it  had  been  so  much 
dross.  And  one  after  another  they  followed  the  penny- 
piece  to  the  apple-stall. 


A  DINNER  IN   THE   CITY 


UT  of  a  mere  love  of  variety  and  con- 
trast, I  think  we  cannot  do  better, 
after  leaving  the  wretched  Whitestock 
among  his  starving  parishioners,  than 
transport  ourselves  to  the  City,  where 
we  are  invited  to  dine  with  the  Wor- 
shipful Company  of  Bellows-Menders,  at  their  splendid 
Hall  in  ]\Iarrow-pudding  Lane. 

Next  to  eating  good  dinners,  a  healthy  man  with  a 
benevolent  turn  of  mind  must  like,  I  think,  to  read  about 
them.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  had  by  heart  the  Barme- 
cide's feast  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights ;  "  and  the  culinary 
passages  in  Scott's  novels  (in  which  works  there  is  a  deal 
of  good  eating)  always  were  my  favourites.  The  Ho- 
meric poems  are  full,  as  everybody  knows,  of  roast  and 
boiled:  and  every  year  I  look  forward  with  pleasure  to 
the  newspapers  of  the  10th  of  November  for  the  menu 
of  the  Lord  ^layor's  feast,  which  is  sure  to  appear  in 
those  journals.  What  student  of  history  is  there  who 
does  not  remember  the  City  dinner  given  to  the  Alhed 
Sovereigns  in  1814?  It  is  good  even  now,  and  to  read  it 
ought  to  make  a  man  hungry,  had  he  had  five  meals  that 
day.  In  a  word,  I  had  long,  long  yearned  in  my  secret 
heart  to  be  present  at  a  City  festival.     The  last  year's 

1T2 


A  DIXXER  IN   THE   CITY  173 

papers  had  a  bill  of  fare  commencing  with  "  four  hun- 
dred tureens  of  turtle,  each  containing  five  pints;  "  and 
concluding  with  the  pineapples  and  ices  of  the  dessert. 
"  Fancy  two  thousand  pints  of  turtle,  my  love,"  I  have 
often  said  to  JNIrs.  Spec,  "  in  a  vast  silver  tank,  smoking 
fragrantly,  with  lovely  green  islands  of  calipash  and 
calipee  floating  about— why,  my  dear,  if  it  had  been 
invented  in  the  time  of  Vitellius  he  would  have  bathed 
in  it!" 

"  He  would  have  been  a  nasty  WTctch,"  ]Mrs.  Spec 
said,  who  thinks  that  cold  mutton  is  the  most  wholesome 
food  of  man.  However,  when  she  heard  what  great  com- 
pany was  to  be  present  at  the  dinner,  the  INIinisters  of 
State,  the  Foreign  Ambassadors,  some  of  the  bench  of 
Bishops,  no  doubt  the  Judges,  and  a  great  portion  of  the 
Nobility,  she  was  pleased  at  the  card  which  was  sent  to 
her  husband,  and  made  a  neat  tie  to  my  white  neckcloth 
before  I  set  off  on  the  festive  journey.  She  warned  me 
to  be  very  cautious,  and  obstinately  refused  to  allow  me 
the  Chubb  door-key. 

The  ver}^  card  of  invitation  is  a  curiosity.  It  is  al- 
most as  big  as  a  tea-tray.  It  gives  one  ideas  of  a  vast, 
enormous  hospitality.  Gog  and  Magog  in  livery  might 
leave  it  at  your  door.  If  a  man  is  to  eat  up  that  card, 
heaven  help  us,  I  thought;  the  Doctor  must  be  called 
in.  Indeed,  it  was  a  Doctor  who  procured  me  the 
placard  of  invitation.  Like  all  medical  men  who  have 
published  a  book  upon  diet,  Pillkington  is  a  great 
gourmand,  and  he  made  a  great  favour  of  procuring 
the  ticket  for  me  from  his  brother  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, who  is  a  Citizen  and  a  Bellows-lNIender  in  his 
corporate  capacity. 

We  drove  in  Pillkington's  brougham  to  the  place  of 


174  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

mangezvous,  through  the  streets  of  the  town,  in  the  broad 
dayhght,  dressed  out  in  our  white  waistcoats  and  ties; 
making  a  sensation  upon  all  beholders  by  the  premature 
splendour  of  our  appearance.  There  is  something  grand 
in  that  hospitality  of  the  citizens,  who  not  only  give  you 
more  to  eat  than  other  people,  but  who  begin  earlier  than 
anybody  else.  Major  Bangles,  Captain  Canterbuiy, 
and  a  host  of  the  fashionables  of  my  acquaintance,  were 
taking  their  morning's  ride  in  the  Park  as  we  drove 
through.  You  should  have  seen  how  they  stared  at  us! 
It  gave  me  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  remark  mentally, 
"  Look  on,  gents,  we  too  are  sometimes  invited  to  the 
tables  of  the  great." 

We  fell  in  with  numbers  of  carriages  as  we  were 
approaching  Citywards,  in  which  reclined  gentlemen 
with  white  neckcloths— grand  equipages  of  foreign  am- 
bassadors, whose  uniforms,  and  stars,  and  gold  lace  glis- 
tened within  the  carriages,  while  their  servants  with 
coloured  cockades  looked  splendid  without:  these  ca- 
reered by  the  Doctor's  brougham-horse,  which  was  a 
little  fatigued  with  his  professional  journeys  in  the 
morning.  General  Sir  Roger  Bluff,  K.C.B.,  and  Colo- 
nel Tucker,  were  stepping  into  a  cab  at  the  United 
Service  Club  as  we  passed  it.  The  veterans  blazed  in 
scarlet  and  gold  lace.  It  seemed  strange  that  men  so 
famous,  if  they  did  not  mount  their  chargers  to  go  to 
dinner,  should  ride  in  any  vehicle  under  a  coach-and-six ; 
and  instead  of  having  a  triumphal  car  to  conduct  them  to 
the  City,  should  go  thither  in  a  rickety  cab,  driven  by  a 
ragged  charioteer  smoking  a  dhoodeen.  In  Cornhill  we 
fell  into  a  line,  and  formed  a  complete  regiment  of  the 
aristocracy.    Crowds  were  gathered  round  the  steps  of 


A  DINNER  IN  THE   CITY  175 

the  old  hall  in  Marrow-pudding  Lane,  and  welcomed  us 
nobility  and  gentry  as  we  stepped  out  of  our  equipages 
at  the  door.  The  policemen  could  hardly  restrain  the 
ardour  of  these  low  fellows,  and  their  sarcastic  cheers 
were  sometimes  very  unpleasant.  There  was  one  rascal 
who  made  an  observation  about  the  size  of  my  white 
waistcoat,  for  which  I  should  have  liked  to  sacrifice  him 
on  the  spot;  but  Pillkington  hurried  me,  as  the  police- 
men did  our  little  brougham,  to  give  place  to  a  prodigious 
fine  equipage  which  followed,  with  immense  grey  horses, 
immense  footmen  in  powder,  and  driven  by  a  grave 
coachman  in  an  episcopal  wig. 

A  veteran  ofiicer  in  scarlet,  with  silver  epaulets,  and 
a  profuse  quantity  of  bullion  and  silver  lace,  descended 
from  this  carriage  between  the  two  footmen,  and  was 
nearly  upset  by  his  curling  sabre,  which  had  twisted  it- 
self between  his  legs,  which  were  cased  in  duck  trousers 
very  tight,  except  about  the  knees  (where  they  bagged 
quite  freely ) ,  and  with  rich  long  white  straps.  I  thought 
he  must  be  a  great  man  by  the  oddness  of  his  uniform. 

"  Who  is  the  general?  "  says  I,  as  the  old  warrior,  dis- 
entangling himself  from  his  scimetar,  entered  the  outer 
hall.  "  Is  it  the  Marquis  of  Anglesea,  or  the  Rajah  of 
Sarawak? " 

I  spoke  in  utter  ignorance,  as  it  appeared.  "  That ! 
Pooh,"  says  Pillkington;  "that  is  Mr.  Champignon, 
M.P.,  of  Whitehall  Gardens  and  Fungus  Abbey,  Citi- 
zen and  Bellows-Mender.  His  uniform  is  that  of  a 
Colonel  of  the  Diddlesex  Militia."  There  was  no  end 
to  similar  mistakes  on  that  day.  A  venerable  man  with 
a  blue  and  gold  uniform,  and  a  large  crimson  sword-belt 
and  brass-scabbarded  sabre,  passed  presently,  whom  I 


176  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

mistook  for  a  foreign  ambassador  at  the  least;  where- 
as I  found  out  that  he  was  only  a  Billingsgate  Com- 
missioner— and  a  little  fellow  in  a  blue  livery,  which 
fitted  him  so  badly  that  I  thought  he  must  be  one  of 
the  hired  waiters  of  the  company,  who  had  been  put 
into  a  coat  that  didn't  belong  to  him,  turned  out  to  be 
a  real  right  honourable  gent,  who  had  been  a  Minister 
once. 

I  was  conducted  upstairs  by  my  friend  to  the  gorgeous 
drawing-room,  where  the  company  assembled,  and  where 
there  was  a  picture  of  George  IV.  I  cannot  make  out 
what  public  companies  can  want  with  a  picture  of 
George  IV.  A  fellow  with  a  gold  chain,  and  in  a  black 
suit,  such  as  the  lamented  IMr.  Cooper  wore  preparatory 
to  execution  in  the  last  act  of  George  Barnwell,  bawled 
out  our  names  as  we  entered  the  apartment.  "  If  my 
Eliza  could  hear  that  gentleman,"  thought  I,  "  roaring 
out  the  name  of  '  jNIr.  Spec! '  in  the  presence  of  at  least 
two  hundred  Earls,  Prelates,  Judges,  and  distinguished 
characters!  "  It  made  little  impression  upon  them,  how- 
ever; and  I  slunk  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and 
watched  the  company. 

Every  man  who  came  into  the  room  was,  of  course, 
ushered  in  with  a  roar.  "  His  Excellency,  the  Minister 
of  Topinambo! "  the  usher  yelled;  and  the  Minister  ap- 
peared, bowing,  and  in  tights.  "  INIr.  Hoggin!  The 
Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres!  Mr.  Snog! 
Mr.  Braddle!  ]Mr.  Alderman  INIoodle!  INIr.  Justice 
Bunker!  Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  Roger  Bluff!  Colonel 
Tucker!  Mr.  Tims!  "  with  the  same  emphasis  and  mark 
of  admiration  for  us  all  as  it  were.  The  Warden  of  the 
Bellows-Menders  came  forward  and  made  a  profusion  of 
bows  to  the  various  distinguished  guests  as  they  arrived. 


A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  177 

He,  too,  was  in  a  court-dress,  with  a  sword  and  bag.  His 
lady  must  like  so  to  behold  him  turning  out  in  arms  and 
ruffles,  shaking  hands  with  Ministers,  and  bowing  over 
his  wine-glass  to  their  Excellencies  the  Foreign  Am- 
bassadors. 

To  be  in  a  room  with  these  great  people  gave  me  a 
thousand  sensations  of  joy.  Once,  I  am  positive,  the 
Secretary  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax  Office  looked 
at  me,  and  turning  round  to  a  noble  lord  in  a  red  rib- 
bon, evidently  asked,  "Who  is  that?"  Oh,  Eliza, 
Eliza !  How  I  wish  you  had  been  there ! — or  if  not  there, 
in  the  ladies'  galleiy  in  the  dining-hall,  when  the  mu- 
sic began,  and  Mr.  Shadrach,  Mr.  Meshech,  and  little 
Jack  Oldboy  (whom  I  recollect  in  the  part  of  Count 
Almaviva  any  time  these  forty  years),  sang  Non  nobis ^ 
D  online. 

But  I  am  advancing  matters  prematurely.  We  are 
not  in  the  grand  dining-hall  as  yet.  The  crowd  grows 
thicker  and  thicker,  so  that  you  can't  see  people  bow 
as  they  enter  any  more.  The  usher  in  the  gold  chain 
roars  out  name  after  name:  more  ambassadors,  more 
generals,  more  citizens,  capitalists,  bankers— among 
them  Mr.  Rowdy,  my  banker,  from  whom  I  shrank 
guiltily  from  private  financial  reasons — and,  last  and 
greatest  of  all,  "  The  Right  Honourable  the  Lord 
Mayor!" 

That  was  a  shock,  such  as  I  felt  on  landing  at  Calais 
for  the  first  time;  on  first  seeing  an  Eastern  bazaar;  on 
first  catching  a  sight  of  Mrs.  Spec;  a  new  sensa- 
tion, in  a  word.  Till  death  I  shall  remember  that  sur- 
prise. I  saw  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  first  a  great 
sword  borne  up  in  the  air :  then  a  man  in  a  fur  cap  of  the 
shape  of  a  flowerpot ;  then  I  heard  the  voice  shouting  the 


178  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

august  name — the  crowd  separated.  A  handsome  man 
with  a  chain  and  gown  stood  before  me.  It  was  he.  He? 
What  do  I  say?  It  was  his  Lordship.  I  cared  for  noth- 
ing till  dinner-time  after  that. 


A  DINNER   IN   THE   CITY 


179 


II 

I  HE  glorious  •  company  of  ban- 
queteers  were  now  pretty  well  all 
assembled;  and  I,  for.  my  part, 
attracted  by  an  irresistible  fasci- 
nation, pushed  nearer  and  nearer 
my  Lord  ISIayor,  and  surveyed 
him,  as  the  Generals,  Lords, 
Ambassadors,  Judges,  and  other 
big-wigs  rallied  round  him  as 
their  centre,  and,  being  intro- 
duced to  his  Lordship  and  each  other,  made  themselves 
the  most  solemn  and  graceful  bows;  as  if  it  had 
been  the  object  of  that  General's  life  to  meet  that  Judge; 
and  as  if  that  Secretary  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax 
Office,  having  achieved  at  length  a  presentation  to  the 
Lord  Mayor,  had  gained  the  end  of  his  existence,  and 
might  go  home,  singing  a  Nunc  diinittis.  Don  Gero- 
nimo  de  Mulligan  y  Guayaba,  ^Minister  of  the  Republic 
of  Topinambo  (and  originally  descended  from  an  illus- 
trious Irish  ancestor,  who  hewed  out  w^ith  his  pickaxe  in 
the  Topinambo  mines  the  steps  by  which  his  family  have 
ascended  to  their  present  eminence),  holding  his  cocked 
hat  with  the  yellow  cockade  close  over  his  embroidered 
coat-tails,  conversed  with  Alderman  Codshead,  that  cel- 
ebrated Statesman,  who  was  also  in  tights,  wdth  a  sword 
and  bag. 

Of  all  the  articles  of  the  splendid  court-dress  of  our 
aristocracy,  I  think  it  is  those  little  bags  which  I  admire 
most.    The  dear  crisp  curly  little  black  darlings!    They 


180  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

give  a  gentleman's  back  an  indescribable  grace  and 
air  of  chivalry.  They  are  at  once  manly,  elegant,  and 
useful  (being  made  of  sticking-plaster,  which  can  be 
applied  afterwards  to  heal  many  a  wound  of  domestic 
life).  They  are  something  extra  appended  to  men,  to 
enable  them  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  royalty.  How 
vastly  the  idea  of  a  Court  increases  in  solemnity  and 
grandeui*  when  you  think  that  a  man  cannot  enter  it 
without  a  tail! 

These  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind,  and  pleas- 
ingly diverted  it  from  all  sensations  of  hunger,  while 
many  friends  around  me  were  pulling  out  their  watches, 
looking  towards  the  great  dining-room  doors,  rattling 
at  the  lock,  (the  door  gasped  open  once  or  twice,  and  the 
nose  of  a  functionary  on  the  other  side  peeped  in  among 
us  and  entreated  peace,)  and  vowing  it  was  scandalous, 
monstrous,  shameful.  If  you  ask  an  assembly  of  Eng- 
lishmen to  a  feast,  and  accident  or  the  cook  delays  it, 
they  show  their  gratitude  in  this  way.  Before  the 
supper-rooms  were  thrown  open  at  my  friend  Mrs.  Per- 
kins's ball,  I  recollect  Liversage  at  the  door,  swearing 
and  growling  as  if  he  had  met  with  an  injury.  So  I 
thought  the  Bellows-JNIenders'  guests  seemed  heaving 
into  mutiny,  when  the  great  doors  burst  open  in  a  flood 
of  light,  and  we  rushed,  a  black  streaming  crowd,  into 
the  gorgeous  hall  of  banquet. 

Every  man  sprang  for  his  place  with  breathless  rapid- 
ity. We  knew  where  those  places  were  beforehand ;  for 
a  cunning  map  had  been  put  into  the  hands  of  each  of 
us  by  an  officer  of  the  Company,  where  every  plate  of 
this  grand  festival  was  numbered,  and  each  gentleman's 
place  was  ticketed  off*.  My  wife  keeps  my  card  still  in 
her  album;  and  my  dear  eldest  boy    (who  has  a  fine 


A  DINNER  IN  THE   CITY  181 

genius  and  appetite)  will  gaze  on  it  for  half  an  hour  at 
a  time,  whereas  he  passes  by  the  copies  of  verses  and  the 
flower-pieces  with  an  entire  indifference. 

The  vast  hall  flames  with  gas,  and  is  emblazoned  all 
over  with  the  arms  of  bj^gone  Bellows-Menders.  Au- 
gust portraits  decorate  the  walls.  The  Duke  of  Kent  in 
scarlet,  with  a  crooked  sabre,  stared  me  firmly  in  the  face 
during  the  whole  entertaiimient.  The  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land, in  a  hussar  uniform,  was  at  my  back,  and  I  knew 
was  looking  down  into  my  plate.  The  eyes  of  those 
gaunt  portraits  follow  you  eveiywhere.  The  Prince 
Regent  has  been  mentioned  before.  He  has  his  place  of 
honour  over  the  great  Bellows-Mender's  chair,  and  sur- 
veys the  high  table  glittering  with  plate,  epergnes,  can- 
dles, hock-glasses,  moulds  of  blancmange  stuck  over  with 
flowers,  gold  statues  holding  up  baskets  of  barley-sugar, 
and  a  thousand  objects  of  art.  Piles  of  immense  gold 
cans  and  salvers  rose  up  in  bufl*ets  behind  this  high  table ; 
towards  which  presently,  and  in  a  grand  procession — the 
band  in  the  gallery  overhead  blowing  out  the  Bellows- 
Menders'  march — a  score  of  City  tradesmen  and  their 
famous  guests  walked  solemnly  between  our  rows  of 
tables. 

Grace  was  said,  not  by  the  professional  devotees  who 
sang  "Non  Nobis  "  at  the  end  of  the  meal,  but  by  a  chap- 
lain somewhere  in  the  room,  and  the  turtle  began. 
Armies  of  waiters  came  rushing  in  with  tureens  of  this 
broth  of  the  City. 

There  was  a  gentleman  near  us — a  very  lean  old 
Bellows-lNIender  indeed,  who  had  three  platefuls.  His 
old  hands  trembled,  and  his  plate  quivered  with  excite- 
ment, as  he  asked  again  and  again.  That  old  man  is  not 
destined  to  eat  much  more  of  the  green  fat  of  this  life. 


182  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

As  he  took  it,  he  shook  all  over  like  the  jelly  in  the  dish 
opposite  to  him.  He  gasped  out  a  quick  laugh  once  or 
twice  to  his  neighbour,  when  his  two  or  three  old  tusks 
showed,  still  standing  up  in  those  jaws  which  had  swal- 
lowed such  a  deal  of  calipash.  He  winked  at  the  waiters, 
knowing  them  from  former  banquets. 


This  banquet,  which  I  am  describing  at  Christmas, 
took  place  at  the  end  of  INIay.  At  that  time  the  vege- 
tables called  pease  were  exceedingly  scarce,  and  cost 
six-and-twenty  shillings  a  quart. 

"  There  are  two  hundred  quarts  of  pease,"  said  the 
old  fellow,  winking  w^ith  blood-shot  eyes,  and  a  laugh 
that  was  perfectly  frightful.  They  were  consumed  with 
the  fragrant  ducks,  by  those  who  were  inclined :  or  with 
the  venison,  which  now  came  in. 

That  was  a  great  sight.    On  a  centre  table  in  the  hall, 


A  DINNER   IN   THE    CITY  183 

on  which  ah-eady  stood  a  cold  Baron  of  Beef— a  gro- 
tesque piece  of  meat— a  dish  as  big  as  a  dish  in  a  panto- 
mime, with  a  little  Standard  of  England  stuck  into  the 
top  of  it,  as  if  it  were  round  this  we  were  to  rally- on 
this  centre  table,  six  men  placed  as  many  huge  dishes 
under  cover;  and  at  a  given  signal  the  master  cook  and 
five  assistants  in  white  caps  and  jackets  marched  rapidly 
up  to  the  dish-covers,  which  being  withdrawn,  discovered 
to  our  sight  six  haunches,  on  which  the  six  carvers,  taking 
out  six  sharp  knives  from  their  girdles,  began  operating. 

It  was,  I  say,  like  something  out  of  a  Gothic  romance, 
or  a  grotesque  fairy  pantomime.  Feudal  barons  must 
have  dined  so  five  hundred  years  ago.  One  of  those 
knives  may  have  been  the  identical  blade  which  Wal- 
worth plunged  into  Wat  Tyler's  ribs,  and  which  was 
afterwards  caught  up  into  the  City  Arms,  where  it 
blazes.  (Not  that  any  man  can  seriously  believe  that 
Wat  Tyler  was  hurt  by  the  dig  of  the  jolly  old  IMayor 
in  the  red  gown  and  chain,  any  more  than  that  pantaloon 
is  singed  by  the  great  poker,  which  is  always  forthcom- 
ing at  the  present  season. )  Here  we  were  practising  the 
noble  custom  of  the  good  old  times,  imitating  our  glori- 
ous forefathers,  rallying  round  our  old  institutions,  like 
true  Britons.  These  very  flagons  and  platters  were  in 
the  room  before  us,  ten  times  as  big  as  any  we  use  or 
want  now-a-days.  They  served  us  a  grace-cup  as  large 
as  a  plate-basket,  and  at  the  end  they  passed  us  a  rose- 
water  dish,  into  which  Pepys  might  have  dipped  his  nap- 
kin. Pepys?— what  do  I  say?  Richard  III.,  Coeur-de- 
Lion,  Guy  of  Warwick,  Gog  and  Magog.  I  don't  know 
how  antique  the  articles  are. 

Conversation,  rapid  and  befitting  the  place  and  occa- 
sion, went  on  all  round.  "  Waiter,  where's  the  turtle- 
fins?  "—Gobble,  gobble.     "  Hice  Punch  or  JNIy  deary. 


184  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

sir?  "  "  Smelts  or  salmon,  Jowler  my  boy?  "  "  Always 
take  cold  beef  after  turtle." — Hobble-gobble.  "  These 
year  pease  have  no  taste."  Hobble-gobbleobble.  "  Jones, 
a  glass  of  'Ock  with  you  ?  Smith,  j ine  us  ?  Waiter,  three 
'Ocks.  S.,  mind  your  manners!  There's  Mrs.  S.  a-look- 
ing  at  you  from  the  gallery." — Hobble-obbl-gobble-gob- 
gob-gob.  A  steam  of  meats,  a  flare  of  candles,  a  rushing 
to  and  fro  of  waiters,  a  ceaseless  clinking  of  glass  and 
steel,  a  dizzy  mist  of  gluttony,  out  of  which  I  see  my  old 
friend  of  the  turtle  soup  making  terrific  play  among  the 
pease,  his  knife  darting  down  his  throat. 

***** 

It  is  all  over.  We  can  eat  no  more.  We  are  full  of 
Bacchus  and  fat  venison.  We  lay  down  our  weapons 
and  rest.  "  Why,  in  the  name  of  goodness,"  says  I, 
turning  round  to  Pillkington,  who  had  behaved  at  dinner 
like  a  doctor;  "  whv — ?  " 

But  a  great  rap,  tap,  tap  proclaimed  grace,  after  which 
the  professional  gentlemen  sang  out,  ''Non  Nobis"  and 
then  the  dessert  and  the  speeches  began ;  about  which  we 
shall  speak  in  the  third  course  of  our  entertainment. 


Ill 


N  the  hammer  having  ceased  its  tap- 
ping, INIr.  Chisel,  the  immortal  toast- 
master,  who  presided  over  the  President, 
roared  out  to  my  three  professional 
friends,  "  Non  Nobis; "  and  what  is 
called  "  the  business  of  the  evening  " 
commenced. 
First,  the  Warden  of  the  Worshipful 


A  DINNER   IN   THE   CITY  185 

Society  of  the  Bellows-Menders  proposed  "  Her  Maj- 
esty "  in  a  reverential  voice.  We  all  stood  up  re- 
spectfully, Chisel  yelling  out  to  us  to  "  Charge  our 
Glasses."  The  royal  health  having  been  imbibed, 
the  professional  gentlemen  ejaculated  a  part  of  the 
National  Anthem;  and  I  do  not  mean  any  disrespect 
to  them  personally,  in  mentioning  that  this  eminently 
religious  hymn  was  performed  by  IMessrs.  Shadrach  and 
Meshech,  two  well-known  melodists  of  the  Hebrew  per- 
suasion. We  clinked  our  glasses  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
anthem,  making  more  dents  upon  the  time-worn  old 
board,  where  many  a  man  present  had  clinked  for 
George  III.,  clapped  for  George  IV.,  rapped  for  Wil- 
liam IV.,  and  was  rejoiced  to  bump  the  bottom  of 
his  glass  as  a  token  of  reverence  for  our  present 
Sovereign. 

Here,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Hebrew  melophonists,  I 
would  insinuate  no  wrong  thought.  Gentlemen,  no 
doubt,  have  the  loyal  emotions  which  exhibit  themselves 
by  clapping  glasses  on  the  tables.  We  do  it  at  home. 
Let  us  make  no  doubt  that  the  bellows-menders,  tailors, 
authors,  public  characters,  judges,  aldermen,  sheriiFs, 
and  what  not,  shout  out  a  health  for  the  Sovereign  every 
night  at  their  banquets,  and  that  their  families  fill  round 
and  drink  the  same  toast  from  the  bottles  of  half -guinea 
Burgundy. 

"  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert,  and  Albert 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  family,"  fol- 
lowed. Chisel  yelling  out  the  august  titles,  and  all  of  us 
banging  away  with  our  glasses,  as  if  we  were  seriously 
interested  in  drinking  healths  to  this  royal  race:  as  if 
drinking  healths  could  do  anybody  any  good;  as  if  the 
imprecations  of  a  company  of  bellows-menders,  alder- 


186  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

men,  magistrates,  tailors,  authors,  tradesmen,  ambassa- 
dors, who  did  not  care  a  twopenny-piece  for  all  the 
royal  families  in  Europe,  could  somehow  affect  heaven 
kindly  towards  their  Royal  Highnesses  by  their  tipsy 
vows,  under  the  presidence  of  Mr.  Chisel. 

The  Queen  Dowager's  health  was  next  prayed  for  by 
us  Bacchanalians,  I  need  not  say  with  what  fei^ency  and 
efficacy.  This  prayer  w^as  no  sooner  put  up  by  the  Chair- 
man, with  Chisel  as  his  Boanerges  of  a  Clerk,  than  the 
elderly  Hebrew  gentlemen  before  mentioned  began 
striking  up  a  wild  patriotic  ditty  about  the  "  Queen  of 
the  Isles,  on  whose  sea-girt  shores  the  bright  sun  smiles, 
and  the  ocean  roars,  w^hose  cliffs  never  knew,  since  the 
bright  sun  rose,  but  a  people  true,  who  scorned  all  foes. 
Oh,  a  people  true,  who  scorn  all  wiles,  inhabit  you, 
bright  Queen  of  the  Isles.  Bright  Quee— Bright  Quee 
— ee — ee — ee — ee — en  awf  the  Isles!  "  or  words  to  that 
effect,  which  Shadrach  took  up  and  warbled  across  his 
glass  to  JNIeshech,  which  ]\Ieshech  trolled  away  to  his 
brother  singer,  until  the  ditty  Avas  ended,  nobody  under- 
standing a  word  of  what  it  meant;  not  Oldboy — not  the 
old  or  young  Israelite  minstrel  his  companion — not  we, 
who  were  clinking  our  glasses — not  Chisel,  who  was 
urging  us  and  the  Chairman  on — not  the  Chairman  and 
the  guests  in  embroidery— not  the  kind,  exalted,  and 
amiable  lady  whose  health  we  were  making  believe  to 
drink,  certainly,  and  in  order  to  render  whose  name  wel- 
come to  the  Powers  to  whom  we  recommended  her  safety, 
we  offered  up,  through  the  mouths  of  three  singers,  hired 
for  the  purpose,  a  perfectly  insane  and  irrelevant  song. 

"  Why,"  says  I  to  Pillkington,  "  the  Chairman  and 
the  grand  guests  might  just  as  well  get  up  and  dance 
round  the  table,  or  cut  off  Chisel's  head  and  pop  it  into 
a  turtle-soup  tureen,  or  go  through  any  other  mad  cere- 


A  DINNER  IN^  THE  CITY  187 

mony  as  the  last.  Which  of  us  here  cares  for  her  Maj- 
esty the  Queen  Dowager,  any  more  than  for  a  virtuous 
and  eminent  lady,  whose  goodness  and  private  worth 
appear  in  all  her  acts  ?  AVhat  the  deuce  has  that  absurd 
song  about  the  Queen  of  the  Isles  to  do  with  her  Majesty, 
and  how  does  it  set  us  all  stamping  with  our  glasses  on 
the  mahogany?  "  Chisel  bellowed  out  another  toast 
— "  The  Army;  "  and  we  were  silent  in  admiration,  while 
Sir  George  BluiF,  the  greatest  General  present,  rose  to 
return  thanks. 

Our  end  of  the  table  was  far  removed  from  the  thick 
of  the  affair,  and  we  only  heard,  as  it  were,  the  indistinct 
cannonading  of  the  General,  w^hose  force  had  just  ad- 
vanced into  action.  We  saw  an  old  gentleman  with 
white  w^hiskers,  and  a  flaring  scarlet  coat  covered  with 
stars  and  gilding,  rise  up  with  a  frightened  and  desper- 
ate look,  and  declare  that  "  this  was  the  proudest — a-hem 
— moment  of  his — a-hem — unworthy  as  he  was — a-hem 
— as  a  member  of  the  British — a-hem — who  had  fought 
under  the  illustrious  Duke  of — a-hem — his  joy  was  to 
come  among  the  Bellows-IMenders — a-hem — and  inform 
the  great  merchants  of  the  greatest  City  of  the — hum 
— that  a  British — a-hem — was  always  readj^  to  do  his 
— hum.  Napoleon — Salamanca — a-hem — had  witnessed 
their — hum,  haw — and  should  any  other — hum — ho — ca- 
sion  which  he  deeply  deprecated — haw — there  were  men 
now  around  him — a-haw — who,  inspired  by  the  Bellows- 
Menders'  Company  and  the  City  of  London — a-hum 
— would  do  their  duty  as — a-hum — a-haw — a-hah."  Im- 
mense cheers,  yells,  hurrays,  roars,  glass-smackings,  and 
applause  followed  this  harangue,  at  the  end  of  which  the 
three  Israelites,  encouraged  by  Chisel,  began  a  militaiy 
cantata—"  Oh,  the  sword  and  shield— on  the  battle-field 
— Are  the  joys  that  best  we  love,  boys— Where  the 


188  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Grenadiers,  with  their  pikes  and  spears,  through  the 
ranks  of  the  foeman  shove,  boys — Where  the  bold  hur- 
ray, strikes  dread  dismay,  in  the  ranks  of  the  dead  and 
dyin' — and  the  baynet  clanks  in  the  Frenchmen's  ranks, 
as  they  fly  from  the  British  Lion."  (I  repeat,  as  before, 
that  I  quote  from  memory. ) 

Then  the  Secretary  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax 
Office  rose  to  return  thanks  for  the  blessings  which  we 
begged  upon  the  JNIinistry.  He  was,  he  said,  but  a  humble 
— the  humblest  member  of  that  body.  The  suffrages 
which  that  body  had  received  from  the  nation  were  grat- 
ifying, but  the  most  gratifying  testimonial  of  all  was  the 
approval  of  the  Bellows-^NIenders'  Company.  {Im- 
mense applause.)  Yes,  among  the  most  enlightened  of 
the  mighty  corporations  of  the  City,  the  most  enlight- 
ened was  the  Bellows-JNIenders'.  Yes,  he  might  say,  in 
consonance  with  their  motto,  and  in  defiance  of  illiber- 
ality,  Afffavit  Veritas  et  dissipati  sunt.  (Enormous 
applause. )  Yes,  the  thanks  and  pride  that  were  boiling 
with  emotion  in  his  bosom,  trembled  to  find  utterance  at 
his  lip.  Yes,  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life,  the  crown 
of  his  ambition,  the  meed  of  his  early  hopes  and  strug- 
gles and  aspirations,  was  at  that  moment  won  in  the 
approbation  of  the  Bellows-Menders.  Yes,  his  children 
should  know  that  he  too  had  attended  at  those  great, 
those  noble,  those  joyous,  those  ancient  festivals,  and 
that  he  too,  the  humble  individual  who  from  his  heart 
pledged  the  assembled  company  in  a  bumper— that  he 
too  was  a  Bellows-Mender. 

Shadrach,  ^Meshech,  and  Oldboy,  at  this  began  sing- 
ing, I  don't  know  for  what  reason,  a  rustic  madrigal, 
describing,  "  Oh,  the  joys  of  bonny  May— bonny  May 
— a-a-ay,  when  the  birds  sing  on  the  spray,"  &c.,  which 


A  DINNER  IN  THE  CITY  189 

never,  as  I  could  see,  had  the  least  relation  to  that  or 
any  other  jNlinistry,  but  which  was,  nevertheless,  ap- 
plauded by  all  present.  And  then  the  Judges  returned 
thanks;  and  the  Clergy  returned  thanks;  and  the  For- 
eign INIinisters  had  an  innings  (all  interspersed  by  my 
friends'  indefatigable  melodies)  ;  and  the  distinguished 
foreigners  present,  especially  JNIr.  Washington  Jackson, 
were  greeted,  and  that  distinguished  American  rose 
amidst  thunders  of  applause. 

He  explained  how  Broadway  and  Cornhill  were  in 
fact  the  same.  He  showed  how  Washington  was  in  fact 
an  Englishman,  and  how  Franklin  would  never  have 
been  an  American  but  for  his  education  as  a  printer  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  He  declared  that  Milton  was  his 
cousin,  Locke  his  ancestor,  Newton  his  dearest  friend, 
Shakspeare  his  grandfather,  or  more  or  less — he  vowed 
that  he  had  wept  tears  of  briny  anguish  on  the  pedestal 
of  Charing  Cross — kissed  with  honest  fervour  the  clay 
of  Runny mede — that  Ben  Jonson  and  Samuel— that 
Pope  and  Dryden,  and  Dr.  Watts  and  Swift  were  the 
darlings  of  his  hearth  and  home,  as  of  ours,  and  in  a 
speech  of  about  five-and-thirty  minutes,  explained  to  us 
a  series  of  complimentary  sensations  very  hard  to  repeat 
or  to  remember. 

But  I  observed  that,  during  his  oration,  the  gentlemen 
who  report  for  the  daily  papers  w^ere  occupied  with  their 
wine  instead  of  their  note-books— that  the  three  singers 
of  Israel  yawned  and  showed  many  signs  of  disquiet  and 
inebriety,  and  that  my  old  friend,  who  had  swallowed 
the  three  plates  of  turtle,  was  sound  asleep. 

Pillkington  and  I  quitted  the  banqueting-hall,  and 
went  into  the  tea-room,  where  gents  were  assembled  still, 
drinking  slops  and  eating  buttered  muffins,  until  the 


190  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

grease  trickled  down  their  faces.  Then  I  resumed  the 
query  which  I  was  just  about  to  put,  when  grace  was 
called,  and  the  last  chapter  ended.  "  And,  gracious 
goodness!  "  I  said,  "  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  a  cer- 
emony so  costly,  so  uncomfortable,  so  savoury,  so  un- 
wholesome as  this?  Who  is  called  upon  to  pay  two  or 
three  guineas  for  my  dinner  now,  in  this  blessed  year 
1847?  Who  is  it  that  can  want  muffins  after  such  a  ban- 
quet? Are  there  no  poor?  Is  there  no  reason?  Is  this 
monstrous  belly- worship  to  exist  for  ever? " 

"  Spec,"  the  Doctor  said,  "  you  had  best  come  away. 
I  make  no  doubt  that  you  for  one  have  had  too  much." 
And  we  went  to  his  brougham.  IMay  nobody  have  such 
a  headache  on  this  happy  New  Year  as  befell  the  present 
writer  on  the  morning  after  the  Dinner  in  the  City! 


WAITING  AT   THE   STATION 

WE  are  amongst  a  number  of  people  waiting  for 
the  Blackwall  train  at  the  Fenchurch  Street 
Station.  Some  of  us  are  going  a  little  farther  than 
Blackwall — as  far  as  Gravesend;  some  of  us  are  going 
even  farther  than  Gravesend— to  Port  Phillip,  in 
Australia,  leaving  behind  the  patrice  fines  and  the  pleas- 
ant fields  of  Old  England.  It  is  rather  a  queer  sensation 
to  be  in  the  same  boat  and  station  with  a  party  that  is 
going  ujDon  so  prodigious  a  journey.  One  speculates 
about  them  with  more  than  an  ordinary  interest,  think- 
ing of  the  difference  between  your  fate  and  theirs,  and 
that  we  shall  never  behold  these  faces  again. 

Some  eight-and-thirty  women  are  sitting  in  the  large 
Hall  of  the  station,  with  bundles,  baskets,  and  light  bag- 
gage, waiting  for  the  steamer,  and  the  orders  to  embark. 
A  few  friends  are  taking  leave  of  them,  bonnets  are  laid 
together,  and  whispering  going  on.  A  little  crying  is 
taking  place; — only  a  very  little  crj^ing, — and  among 
those  who  remain,  as  it  seems  to  me,  not  those  M'ho  are 
going  away.  They  leave  behind  them  little  to  weep  for ; 
they  are  going  from  bitter  cold  and  hunger,  constant 
want  and  unavailing  labour.  Why  should  they  be  sorry 
to  quit  a  mother  who  has  been  so  hard  to  them  as  our 
country  has  been  ?  How  many  of  these  women  will  ever 
see  the  shore  again,  upon  the  brink  of  which  they  stand, 
and  from  which  they  will  depart  in  a  few  minutes  more  ? 
It  makes  one  sad  and  ashamed  too,  that  thev  should  not 

191 


192  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

be  more  sony.  But  how  are  you  to  expect  love  where 
you  have  given  such  scanty  kindness?  If  you  saw  your 
children  glad  at  the  thoughts  of  leaving  you,  and  for 
ever :  would  you  blame  yourselves  or  them  ?  It  is  not  that 
the  children  are  ungrateful,  but  the  home  was  unliappy, 
and  the  parents  indifferent  or  unkind.  You  are  in  the 
wi'ong,  under  whose  government  they  only  had  neglect 
and  wretchedness;  not  they,  who  can't  be  called  upon 
to  love  such  an  unlovely  thing  as  misery,  or  to  make  any 
other  return  for  neglect  but  indifference  and  aversion. 

You  and  I,  let  us  suppose  again,  are  civilized  persons. 
We  have  been  decently  educated :  and  live  decently  every 
day,  and  wear  tolerable  clothes,  and  practise  cleanliness : 
and  love  the  arts  and  graces  of  life.  As  we  walk  down 
this  rank  of  eight-and-thirty  female  emigrants,  let  us 
fancy  that  we  are  at  Melbourne,  and  not  in  London,  and 
that  we  have  come  down  from  our  sheep-walks,  or  clear- 
ings, having  heard  of  the  arrival  of  forty  honest,  well- 
recommended  young  women,  and  having  a  natural 
longing  to  take  a  wife  home  to  the  bush— which  of  these 
would  you  like?  If  you  were  an  Australian  Sultan,  to 
which  of  these  would  you  throw  the  handkerchief?  I  am 
afraid  not  one  of  them.  I  fear,  in  our  present  mood  of 
mind,  we  should  mount  horse  and  return  to  the  country, 
preferring  a  solitude,  and  to  be  a  bachelor,  than  to  put 
up  with  one  of  these  for  a  companion.  There  is  no  girl 
here  to  tempt  you  by  her  looks:  (and,  world-wiseacre  as 
you  are,  it  is  by  these  j^ou  are  principally  moved)  —there 
is  no  pretty,  modest,  red-cheeked  rustic,— no  neat,  trim 
little  grisette,  such  as  what  we  call  a  gentleman  might 
cast  his  eyes  upon  without  too  much  derogating,  and 
might  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  about  town.  No ; 
it  is  a  homely  bevy  of  women  with  scarcely  any  beauty 


WAITING  AT   THE   STATION        193 

amongst  them— their  clothes  are  decent,  but  not  the  least 
picturesque — their  faces  are  pale  and  care-worn  for  the 
most  part — how,  indeed,  should  it  be  otherwise,  seeing 
that  they  have  known  care  and  want  all  their  days? — 
there  they  sit,U23on  bare  benches,  with  dingy  bundles,  and 
great  cotton  umbrellas — and  the  truth  is,  you  are  not  a 
hardy  colonist,  a  feeder  of  sheep,  feller  of  trees,  a  hunter 
of  kangaroos — but  a  London  man,  and  my  lord  the 
Sultan's  cambric  handkerchief  is  scented  with  Bond 
Street  perfumery — you  put  it  in  your  pocket,  and 
couldn't  give  it  to  any  one  of  these  women. 

They  are  not  like  you,  indeed.  They  have  not  your 
tastes  and  feelings:  your  education  and  refinements. 
They  would  not  understand  a  hundred  things  which  seem 
perfectly  simple  to  you.  They  would  shock  you  a  hun- 
dred times  a  day  by  as  many  deficiencies  of  politeness, 
or  by  outrages  upon  the  Queen's  English — by  practices 
entirely  harmless,  and  yet  in  your  eyes  actually  worse 
than  crimes — they  have  large  hard  hands  and  clumsy 
feet.  The  woman  you  love  must  have  pretty  soft  fingers 
that  you  may  hold  in  yours:  must  speak  her  language 
properly,  and  at  least  when  j^ou  offer  her  your  heart,  must 
return  hers  with  its  h  in  the  right  place,  as  she  whispers 
that  it  is  yours,  or  you  will  have  none  of  it.  If  she  says, 
"  O  Hedward,  I  ham  so  unappy  to  think  I  shall  never 
beold  you  agin," — though  her  emotion  on  leaving  you 
might  be  perfectly  tender  and  genuine,  you  would  be 
obliged  to  laugh.  If  she  said,  "  Hedward,  my  art  is 
yours  for  hever  and  hever  "  (and  anybody  heard  her), 
she  might  as  well  stab  you, — you  couldn't  accept  the 
most  faithful  affection  offered  in  such  terms — you  are  a 
town-bred  man,  I  say,  and  your  handkerchief  smells  of 
Bond  Street  musk  and  millefleur.    A  sun-burnt  settler 


194  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

out  of  the  Bush  won't  feel  any  of  these  exquisite  tor- 
tures: or  understand  this  kind  of  laughter:  or  object  to 
Molly  because  her  hands  are  coarse  and  her  ankles  thick : 
but  he  will  take  her  back  to  his  farm,  where  she  will 
nurse  his  children,  bake  his  dough,  milk  his  cows,  and 
cook  his  kangaroo  for  him. 

But  between  you,  an  educated  Londoner,  and  that 
woman,  is  not  the  union  absurd  and  impossible?  Would 
it  not  be  unbearable  for  either?  Solitude  would  be  in- 
comparably pleasanter  than  such  a  companion. — You 
might  take  her  with  a  handsome  fortune,  perhaps,  were 
you  starving;  but  then  it  is  because  you  want  a  house 
and  carriage,  let  us  say  {your  necessaries  of  life),  and 
must  have  them  even  if  you  purchase  them  with  your 
precious  person.  You  do  as  much,  or  your  sister  does  as 
much,  every  day.  That,  however,  is  not  the  point :  I  am 
not  talking  about  the  meanness  to  which  j^our  worship 
may  be  possibly  obliged  to  stoop,  in  order,  as  you  say, 
"  to  keep  up  your  rank  in  society  " — only  stating  that 
this  immense  social  difference  does  exist.  You  don't 
like  to  own  it:  or  don't  choose  to  talk  about  it,  and  such 
things  had  much  better  not  be  spoken  about  at  all.  I 
hear  your  worship  say,  there  must  be  differences  in  rank 
and  so  forth !  Well !  out  with  it  at  once :  you  don't  think 
]Molly  is  your  equal — nor  indeed  is  she  in  the  possession 
of  many  artificial  acquirements.  She  can't  make  Latin 
verses,  for  example,  as  you  used  to  do  at  school ;  she  can't 
speak  French  and  Italian,  as  your  wife  veiy  likely  can, 
&c. — and  in  so  far  she  is  your  inferior,  and  your  amiable 
lady's.  cv 

But  what  I  note,  what  I  marvel  at,  what  I  acknow- 
ledge, what  I  am  ashamed  of,  what  is  contrary  to  Chris- 
tian morals,  manly  modesty  and  honesty,  and  to  the 


WAITING    AT    THE    STATION       195 

national  well-being,  is  that  there  should  be  that  immense 
social  distinction  between  the  well-dressed  classes  (as, 
if  you  will  permit  me,  we  will  call  ourselves,)  and  our 
brethren  and  sisters  in  the  fustian  jackets  and  pattens. 
If  you  deny  it  for  your  part,  I  say  that  you  are  mistaken, 
and  deceive  yourself  wofully.  I  say  that  you  have  been 
educated  to  it  through  Gothio  ages,  and  have  had  it 
handed  down  to  you  from  your  fathers  (not  that  they 
»vere  anybody  in  particular,  but  respectable,  well-dressed 
progenitors,  let  us  say  for  a  generation  or  two)  —from 
your  well-dressed  fathers  before  you.  How  long  ago  is 
it,  that  our  preachers  were  teaching  the  poor  "  to  know 
their  station?  "  that  it  was  the  peculiar  boast  of  English- 
men, that  any  man,  the  humblest  among  us,  could,  by 
talent,  industry,  and  good  luck,  hope  to  take  his  place 
in  the  aristocracy  of  his  country,  and  that  we  pointed 
with  pride  to  Lord  This,  who  was  the  grandson  of  a 
barber;  and  to  Earl  That,  whose  father  was  an  apothe- 
cary? What  a  multitude  of  most  respectable  folks  pride 
themselves  on  these  things  still!  The  gulf  is  not  impass- 
able, because  one  man  in  a  million  swims  over  it,  and  we 
hail  him  for  his  strength  and  success.  He  has  landed  on 
the  happy  island.  He  is  one  of  the  aristocracy.  Let  us 
clap  hands  and  applaud.  There's  no  country  like  ours 
for  rational  freedom. 

If  you  go  up  and  speak  to  one  of  these  women,  as  you 
do,  (and  very  good-naturedly,  and  you  can't  help  that 
confounded  condescension,)  she  curtsies  and  holds  down 
her  head  meekly,  and  replies  with  modesty,  as  becomes 
her  station„to  your  honour  with  the  clean  shirt  and  the 
well-made  coat.  "  And  so  she  should,"  what  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  us  rich  and  poor  say  still.  Both  believe 
this  to  be  bounden  duty ;  and  that  a  poor  person  should 


196  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

naturally  bob  her  head  to  a  rich  one  physically  and 
morally. 

Let  us  get  her  last  curtsey  from  her  as  she  stands  here 
upon  the  English  shore.  When  she  gets  into  the  Austra- 
lian woods  her  back  won't  bend  except  to  her  labour ;  or, 
if  it  do,  from  old  habit  and  the  reminiscence  of  the  old 
country,  do  you  suppose  her  children  will  be  like  that 
timid  creature  before  you?  Thej^  will  know  nothing  of 
that  Gothic  society,  with  its  ranks  and  hierarchies,  its 
cumbrous  ceremonies,  its  glittering  antique  parapher- 
nalia, in  which  we  have  been  educated ;  in  which  rich  and 
poor  still  acquiesce,  and  which  multitudes  of  both  still 
admire:  far  removed  from  these  old-world  traditions, 
they  will  be  bred  up  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  freedom, 
manly  brotherhood.  Do  you  think  if  your  worship's 
grandson  goes  into  the  Australian  woods,  or  meets  the 
grandchild  of  one  of  yonder  women  by  the  banks  of  the 
Warrawarra,  the  Australian  will  take  a  hat  off  or  bob  a 
curtsey  to  the  new  comer?  He  will  hold  out  his  hand 
and  say,  "  Stranger,  come  into  my  house  and  take  a 
shakedown  and  have  a  share  of  our  supper.  You  come 
out  of  the  old  country,  do  you  ?  There  was  some  people 
were  kind  to  my  grandmother  there,  and  sent  her  out  to 
^lelbourne.  Times  are  changed  since  then— come  in 
and  welcome! " 

What  a  confession  it  is  that  we  have  almost  all  of  us 
been  obliged  to  make!  A  clever  and  earnest-minded 
writer  gets  a  commission  from  the  Morning  Chronicle 
newspaper,  and  reports  upon  the  state  of  our  poor  in 
London ;  he  goes  amongst  labouring  people  and  poor  of 
all  kinds— and  brings  back  what?  A  picture  of  human 
life  so  wonderful,  so  awful,  so  piteous  and  pathetic,  so 
exciting  and  terrible,  that  readers  of  romances  own  they 


WAITING   AT   THE    STATION        197 

never  read  anything  like  to  it ;  and  that  the  griefs,  strug- 
gles, strange  adventures  here  depicted,  exceed  anything 
that  any  of  us  could  imagine.  Yes;  and  these  wonders 
and  terrors  have  been  lying  by  your  door  and  mine  ever 
since  we  had  a  door  of  our  own.  We  had  but  to  go  a 
hundred  yards  off  and  see  for  ourselves,  but  we  never 
did.  Don't  we  pay  poor-rates,  and  are  they  not  heavy 
enough  in  the  name  of  patience  ?  Very  time ;  and  we  have 
our  own  private  pensioners,  and  give  away  some  of  our 
superfluity,  very  likely.  You  are  not  unkind;  not  un- 
generous. But  of  such  wondrous  and  complicated  mis- 
ery as  this  you  confess  you  had  no  idea.  No.  How 
should  you?— you  and  I — we  are  of  the  upper  classes; 
we  have  had  hitherto  no  community  with  the  poor.  We 
never  speak  a  word  to  the  servant  who  waits  on  us  for 
twenty  years;  we  condescend  to  employ  a  tradesman, 
keeping  him  at  a  proper  distance,  mind,  of  course,  at  a 
proper  distance — we  laugh  at  his  young  men,  if  they 
dance,  jig,  and  amuse  themselves  like  their  betters,  and 
call  them  counter-jumpers,  snobs,  and  what  not?  of  his 
workmen  we  know  nothing,  how  pitilessly  they  are 
ground  down,  how  they  live  and  die,  here  close  by  us  at 
the  backs  of  our  houses;  until  some  poet  like  Hood 
wakes  and  sings  that  dreadful  "Song  of  the  Shirt; " 
some  prophet  like  Carlyle  rises  up  and  denounces  woe; 
some  clear-sighted  energetic  man  like  the  writer  of 
the  Chronicle  travels  into  the  poor  man's  country  for  us, 
and  comes  back  with  his  tale  of  terror  and  wonder. 

Awful,  awful  poor  man's  country!  The  bell  rings, 
and  these  eight-and-thirty  women  bid  adieu  to  it,  rescued 
from  it  (as  a  few  thousands  more  will  be)  by  some  kind 
people  who  are  interested  in  their  behalf.  In  two  hours 
more,  the  steamer  lies  alongside  the  ship  CuUoden,  which 


198  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

will  bear  them  to  their  new  home.  Here  are  the  berths 
aft  for  the  unmarried  women,  the  married  couples  are  in 
the  midships,  the  bachelors  in  the  fore-part  of  the  ship. 
Above  and  below  decks  it  swarms  and  echoes  with  the 
bustle  of  departure.  The  Emigration  Commissioner 
comes  and  calls  over  their  names;  there  are  old  and 
young, large  families,  numbers  of  children  already  accus- 
tomed to  the  ship,  and  looking  about  with  amused  uncon- 
sciousness. One  was  born  but  just  now  on  board ;  he  will 
not  know  how  to  speak  English  till  he  is  fifteen  thousand 
miles  away  from  home.  Some  of  these  kind  people 
whose  bounty  and  benevolence  organized  the  Female 
Emigration  Scheme,  are  here  to  give  a  last  word  and 
shake  of  the  hand  to  their  jwotegees.  They  hang  sadly 
and  gratefully  round  their  patrons.  One  of  them,  a 
clergyman,  who  has  devoted  himself  to  this  good  work, 
says  a  few  words  to  them  at  parting.  It  is  a  solemn  min- 
ute indeed— for  those  who  (with  the  few  thousand  who 
will  follow  them)  are  leaving  the  country  and  escaping 
from  the  question  between  rich  and  poor;  and  what  for 
those  who  remain?  But,  at  least,  those  who  go  will  re- 
member that  in  their  miseiy  here  thej^  found  gentle 
hearts  to  love  and  pity  them,  and  generous  hands  to  give 
them  succour,  and  will  plant  in  the  new  country  this 
grateful  tradition  of  the  old.— May  heaven's  good  mercy 
speed  them ! 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE 


fii   with 


AVING  made  a  sol- 
emn      engagement 
during  the  last  Mid- 
summer       holidays 
my      young 
friend        Augustus 
^  Jones,       that       we 
should     go     to     a 
fc   Christmas      Panto- 


mime together,  and 


being  accommo- 
dated by  the  oblig- 
ing proprietors  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  a  private 
box  for  last  Tuesday,  I  invited  not  only  him,  but  some 
other  young  friends  to  be  present  at  the  entertainment. 
The  two  Miss  Twiggs,  the  charming  daughters  of  the 
Rev.  INIr.  Twigg,  our  neighbour;  Miss  Minny  Twigg, 
their  youngest  sister,  eight  years  of  age ;  and  their  mater- 
nal aunt,  Mrs.  Captain  Flather,  as  the  chaperon  of  the 
young  ladies,  were  the  four  other  partakers  of  this 
amusement  with  myself  and  JNIr.  Jones. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  ladies,  who  live  in  ^lontpellier 
Square,  Brompton,  should  take  up  myself  and  INIaster 
Augustus  at  the  "  Sarcophagus  Club,"  wliich  is  on  the 
way  to  the  theatre,  and  where  we  two  gentlemen  dined 


199 


200  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

on  the  day  appointed.  Cox's  most  roomy  fly,  the  mouldy 
green  one,  in  which  he  insists  on  putting  the  roaring 
grey  horse,  was  engaged  for  the  happy  evening.  Only 
an  intoxicated  driver  (as  Cox's  man  always  is)  could 
ever,  I  am  sure,  get  that  animal  into  a  trot.  But  the  ut- 
most fury  of  the  whip  will  not  drive  him  into  a  danger- 
ous pace;  and  besides,  the  ladies  were  protected  by 
Thomas,  INIrs.  Flather's  page,  a  young  man  with  a  gold 
band  to  his  hat,  and  a  large  gilt  knob  on  the  top,  who 
ensured  the  safety  of  the  cargo,  and  really  gave  the 
vehicle  the  dignity  of  one's  own  carriage. 

The  dinner-hour  at  the  "  Sarcophagus  "  being  ap- 
pointed for  five  o'clock,  and  a  table  secured  in  the 
strangers'  room.  Master  Jones  was  good  enough  to  ar- 
rive (under  the  guardianship  of  the  Colonel's  footman) 
about  half-an-hour  before  the  appointed  time,  and  the 
interval  was  by  him  partly  passed  in  conversation,  but 
chiefly  in  looking  at  a  large  silver  watch  which  he  pos- 
sesses, and  in  hoping  that  we  shouldn't  be  late. 

I  made  every  attempt  to  pacify  and  amuse  my  young 
guest,  whose  anxiety  was  not  about  the  dinner  but  about 
the  play.  I  tried  him  with  a  few^  questions  about  Greek 
and  JNIathematics — a  sort  of  talk,  however,  which  I  was 
obliged  speedily  to  abandon,  for  I  found  he  knew  a 
great  deal  more  upon  these  subjects  than  I  did —  (it  is 
disgusting  how  preternaturally  learned  the  boys  of  our 
day  are,  by  the  way ) .  I  engaged  him  to  relate  anecdotes 
about  his  schoolfellows  and  ushers,  which  he  did,  but  still 
in  a  hurried,  agitated,  nervous  manner — evidentlj'-  think- 
ing about  that  sole  absorbing  subject,  the  pantomime. 

A  neat  little  dinner,  sen'^ed  in  Botibol's  best  manner 
(our  clief  at  the  "  Sarcophagus  "  knows  when  he  has  to 
deal  with  a  connoisseur,  and  would  as  soon  serve  me  up 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  201 

his  own  ears  as  a  rechauffe  dish) ,  made  scarcely  any  im- 
pression on  young  Jones.  After  a  couple  of  spoonfuls, 
he  pushed  away  the  Palestine  soup,  and  took  out  his 
large  silver  watch— he  applied  two  or  three  times  to  the 
chronometer  during  the  fish  period— and  it  was  not  until 
I  had  him  employed  upon  an  omelette,  full  of  apricot 
jam,  that  the  young  gentleman  was  decently  tranquil. 

With  the  last  mouthful  of  the  omelette  he  began  to 
fidget  again;  and  it  still  wanted  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
of  six.  Nuts,  almonds  and  raisins,  figs  (the  almost 
never-failing  soother  of  youth ) ,  I  hoped  might  keep  him 
quiet,  and  laid  before  him  all  those  delicacies.  But  he 
beat  the  devil's  tattoo  with  the  nut-crackers,  had  out  the 
watch  time  after  time,  declared  that  it  stopped,  and  made 
such  a  ceaseless  kicking  on  the  legs  of  his  chair,  that 
there  were  moments  when  I  wished  he  was  back  in  the 
parlour  of  JNIrs.  Jones,  his  mamma. 

I  know  oldsters  who  have  a  savage  pleasure  in  making 
boys  dnnik— a  horrid  thought  of  this  kind  may,  perhaps, 
have  crossed  my  mind.  "  If  I  could  get  him  to  drink 
half-a-dozen  glasses  of  that  heavy  port,  it  might  soothe 
him  and  make  him  sleep,"  I  may  have  thought.  But  he 
would  only  take  a  couple  of  glasses  of  wine.  He  said  he 
didn't  like  more ;  that  his  father  did  not  wish  him  to  take 
more:  and  abashed  by  his  frank  and  honest  demeanour, 
I  would  not  press  him,  of  course,  a  single  moment 
further,  and  so  was  forced  to  take  the  bottle  to  myself, 
to  soothe  me  instead  of  my  young  guest. 

He  was  almost  frantic  at  a  quarter  to  seven,  by  which 
time  the  ladies  had  agreed  to  call  for  us,  and  for  about 
five  minutes  was  perfectly  dangerous.  "  We  shall  be 
late,  I  know  we  shall ;  I  said  we  should !  I  am  sure  it's 
seven,  past,  and  that  the  box  will  be  taken!  "  and  count- 


202  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

less  other  exclamations  of  fear  and  impatience  passed 
through  his  mind.  At  length  we  heard  a  carriage  stop, 
and  a  Club  sei*\'ant  entering  and  directing  himself 
towards  our  table.  Young  Jones  did  not  want  to  hear 
him  speak,  but  cried  out, — "Hooray,  here  they  are!" 
flung  his  najikin  over  his  head,  dashed  off  his  chair, 
sprang  at  his  hat  like  a  kitten  at  a  ball,  and  bounced  out 
of  the  door,  crying  out,  "  Come  along,  Mr.  Spec!  "  whilst 
the  individual  addressed  much  more  deliberately  fol- 
lowed. "Happy  Augustus!"  I  mentally  exclaimed. 
"  O  thou  brisk  and  bounding  votary  of  pleasure!  When 
the  virile  toga  has  taken  the  place  of  the  jacket  and 
turned-down  collar,  that  Columbine ^  who  will  float  be- 


fore you  a  goddess  to-night,  will  only  be  a  third-rate 
dancing  female,  with  rouge  and  large  feet.  You  will 
see  the  ropes  by  which  the  genii  come  down,  and  the  dirty 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  203 

crumpled  knees  of  the  fairies — and  you  won't  be  in  such 
a  hurry  to  leave  a  good  bottle  of  port  as  now  at  the  pleas- 
ant age  of  thirteen." — [By  the  way,  boys  are  made  so 
abominably  comfortable  and  odiously  happy,  now-a- 
days,  that  when  I  look  back  to  1802,  and  my  own  youth, 
I  get  in  a  rage  with  the  whole  race  of  boys,  and  feel  in- 
clined to  flog  them  all  round.]  Paying  the  bill,  I  say, 
and  making  these  leisurely  observations,  I  passed  under 
the  hall  of  the  "  Sarcophagus,"  where  Thomas,  the  page, 
touched  the  gold-knobbed  hat  respectfully  to  me,  in  a 
manner  which  I  think  must  have  rather  surprised  old 
General  Growler,  who  was  unrolling  himself  of  his  muf- 
fetees  and  wrappers,  and  issued  into  the  street,  where 
Cox's  fly  was  in  waiting :  the  windows  up,  and  whitened 
with  a  slight  frost:  the  silhouettes  of  the  dear  beings 
within  dimly  visible  against  the  chemist's  light  opposite 
the  Club ;  and  Master  Augustus  already  kicking  his  heels 
on  the  box,  by  the  side  of  the  inebriated  driver. 

I  caused  the  youth  to  descend  from  that  perch,  and 
the  door  of  the  fly  being  opened,  thrust  him  in.  Mrs. 
Captain  Flather,  of  course,  occupied  the  place  of  honour 
— an  uncommonly  capacious  woman, — and  one  of  the 
young  ladies  made  a  retreat  from  the  front  seat,  in  order 
to  leave  it  vacant  for  myself;  but  I  insisted  on  not  in- 
commoding Mrs.  Captain  F.,  and  that  the  two  darling 
children  should  sit  beside  her,  while  I  occupied  the  place 
of  back  bodkin  between  the  two  Miss  Twiggs. 

They  were  attired  in  white,  covered  up  with  shawls, 
with  bouquets  in  their  laps,  and  their  hair  dressed  evi- 
dently for  the  occasion:  Mrs.  Flather  in  her  red  velvet 
of  course,  with  her  large  gilt  state  turban. 

She  saw  that  we  were  squeezed  on  our  side  of  the  car- 
riage, and  made  an  offer  to  receive  me  on  hers. 


204  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Squeezed?  I  should  think  we  were;  but,  O  Emily,  O 
Louisa,  you  mischievous  little  black-eyed  creatures,  who 
would  dislike  being  squeezed  by  you?  I  wished  it  was  to 
York  we  were  going,  and  not  to  Covent  Garden.  How 
swiftly  the  moments  passed !  We  were  at  the  play-house 
in  no  time:  and  Augustus  plunged  instantly  out  of  the 
fly  over  the  sliins  of  everybody. 


n 


E  took  possession  of 
the  private  box  as- 
signed to  us:  and 
Mrs.  Flather  seated 
herself  in  the  place  of 
honour— each  of  the 
young  ladies  taking  it 
by  turns  to  occupy  the 
other  corner.  Miss 
Minny  and  Master 
Jones  occupied  the 
middle  places;  and  it 
was  pleasant  to  watch 
the  young  gentleman  throughout  the  performance  of 
the  comedy — during  which  he  was  never  quiet  for  two 
minutes — now  shifting  his  chair,  now  swinging  to  and 
fro  upon  it,  now  digging  his  elbows  into  the  capacious 
sides  of  Mrs.  Captain  Flather,  now  beating  with  his 
boots  against  the  front  of  the  box,  or  trampling  upon  the 
skirts  of  Mrs.  Flather's  satin  gamient. 

He  occux^ied  himself  unceasingly,  too,  in  working  up 


A  NIGHT'S   PLEASURE  205 

and  down  ]Mrs.  F.'s  double-barrelled  French  opera-glass 
— not  a  little  to  the  detriment  of  that  instrument  and  the 
wrath  of  the  owner ;  indeed  I  have  no  doubt,  that  had  not 
Mrs.  Flather  reflected  that  ]Mrs.  Colonel  Jones  gave 
some  of  the  most  elegant  parties  in  London,  to  which 
she  was  veiy  anxious  to  be  invited,  she  would  have  boxed 
Master  Augustus's  ears  in  the  presence  of  the  whole 
audience  of  Covent  Garden. 

One  of  the  young  ladies  was,  of  course,  obliged  to  re- 
main in  the  back  row  with  Mr.  Spec.  We  could  not  see 
much  of  the  play  over  Mrs.  F.'s  turban ;  but  I  trust  that 
we  were  not  unhappy  in  our  retired  position.  O  Miss 
Emily !  O  INIiss  Louisa !  there  is  one  who  would  be  happy 
to  sit  for  a  week  close  by  either  of  you,  though  it  were 
on  one  of  those  abominable  little  private-box  chairs.  I 
know,  for  my  part,  that  every  time  the  box-keeperess 
popped  in  her  head,  and  asked  if  we  would  take  any  re- 
freshment, I  thought  the  interruption  odious. 

Our  young  ladies,  and  their  stout  chaperon  and  aunt, 
had  come  provided  with  neat  little  bouquets  of  flowers, 
in  which  they  evidently  took  a  considerable  pride,  and 
which  were  laid,  on  their  first  entrance,  on  the  ledge  in 
front  of  our  box. 

But,  presently,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  INIrs. 
Cutbush,  of  Pocklington  Gardens,  appeared  with  her 
daughters,  and  bowed  in  a  patronizing  manner  to  the  la- 
dies of  our  party,  with  whom  the  Cutbush  family  had  a 
slight  acquaintance. 

Before  ten  minutes,  the  bouquets  of  our  party 
were  whisked  away  from  the  ledge  of  the  box.  INIrs. 
Flather  dropped  hers  to  the  ground,  where  INIaster 
Jones's  feet  speedily  finished  it ;  INIiss  Louisa  Twigg  let 
hers  fall  into  her  lap,  and  covered  it  with  her  pocket- 


206  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

handkerchief.  Uneasy  signals  passed  between  her  and 
her  sister.  I  could  not,  at  first,  understand  what  event 
had  occurred  to  make  these  ladies  so  unhappy. 

At  last  the  secret  came  out.  The  Misses  Cutbush  had 
bouquets  like  little  haystacks  before  them.  Our  small 
nosegays,  which  had  quite  satisfied  the  girls  until  now, 
had  become  odious  in  their  little  jealous  eyes;  and  the 
Cutbushes  triumphed  over  them. 

I  have  joked  the  ladies  subsequently  on  this  adven- 
ture; but  not  one  of  them  will  acknowledge  the  charge 
against  them.  It  was  mere  accident  that  made  them 
drop  the  flowers— pure  accident.  They  jealous  of  the 
Cutbushes— not  they,  indeed;  and  of  course,  each  person 
on  this  head  is  welcome  to  his  own  opinion. 

How  different,  meanwhile,  was  the  behaviour  of  my 
young  friend  blaster  Jones,  who  is  not  as  yet  sophisti- 
cated by  the  world.  He  not  only  nodded  to  his  father's 
servant,  who  had  taken  a  place  in  the  pit,  and  was  to 
escort  his  young  master  home,  but  he  discovered  a  school- 
fellow in  the  pit  likewise.  "  By  Jove,  there's  Smith!  " 
he  cried  out,  as  if  the  sight  of  Smith  was  the  most  ex- 
traordinary event  in  the  world.  He  pointed  out  Smith 
to  all  of  us.  He  never  ceased  nodding,  winking,  grin- 
ning, telegraphing,  until  he  had  succeeded  in  attracting 
the  attention  not  only  of  Master  Smith,  but  of  the 
greater  part  of  the  house ;  and  whenever  anything  in  the 
play  struck  him  as  worthy  of  applause,  he  instantly  made 
signals  to  Smith  below,  and  shook  his  fist  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  By  Jove,  old  fellow,  ain't  it  good?  I  say, 
Smith,  isn't  it  prime,  old  boy?  "  He  actually  made  re- 
marks on  his  fingers  to  Master  Smith  during  the  per- 
formance. 

I  confess  he  was  one  of  the  best  parts  of  the  night's 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  207 

entertainment  to  me.  How  Jones  and  Smith  will  talk 
about  that  play  when  they  meet  after  the  holidays !  And 
not  only  then  will  they  remember  it,  but  all  their  lives 
long.  Why  do  you  remember  that  play  j^ou  saw  thirty 
years  ago,  and  forget  the  one  over  which  you  yawned 
last  week?  "  Ah,  my  brave  little  boy,"  I  thought  in  my 
heart,  "twenty  years  hence  you  will  recollect  this,  and 
have  forgotten  many  a  better  thing.  You  will  have  been 
in  love  twice  or  thrice  by  that  time,  and  have  forgotten 
it;  you  will  have  buried  your  wife  and  forgotten  her; 
you  will  have  had  ever  so  many  friendships  and  for- 
gotten them.  You  and  Smith  won't  care  for  each  other, 
very  probably ;  but  you'll  remember  all  the  actors  and  the 
plot  of  this  piece  we  are  seeing." 

I  protest  I  have  forgotten  it  myself.  In  our  back  row 
we  could  not  see  or  hear  much  of  the  performance  ( and 
no  great  loss)  — fitful  bursts  of  elocution  only  occasion- 
ally reaching  us,  in  which  we  could  recognize  the  well- 
known  nasal  twang  of  the  excellent  jVIr.  Stupor,  who 
performed  the  part  of  the  young  hero;  or  the  ringing 
laughter  of  INIrs.  Belmore,  who  had  to  giggle  through 
the  whole  piece. 

It  was  one  of  Mr.  Boyster's  comedies  of  English 
Life.  Frank  Nightrake  (Stupor)  and  his  friend 
Bob  Fitzoffley  appeared  in  the  first  scene,  having 
a  conversation  with  that  impossible  valet  of  English 
Comedy,  whom  any  gentleman  would  turn  out  of  doors 
before  he  could  get  through  half  a  length  of  the  dialogue 
assigned.  I  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  this  act.  Bob, 
like  a  fashionable  young  dog  of  the  aristocracy^  (the  char- 
acter was  played  by  Bulger,  a  meritorious  man,  but  veiy 
stout,  and  nearly  fifty  years  of  age),  was  dressed  in  a 
rhubarb-coloured  body-coat  with  brass  buttons,  a  couple 


208  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

of  under-waistcoats,  a  blue  satin  stock  with  a  paste 
brooch  in  it,  and  an  eighteenpenny  cane,  which  he  never 
let  out  of  his  hand,  and  with  which  he  poked  fun  at  eveiy- 
body.  Frank  Nightrake,  on  the  contrary,  being  at 
home,  was  attired  in  a  very  close-fitting  chintz  dressing- 
gown,  lined  with  glazed  red  calico,  and  was  seated  before 
a  large  pewter  teapot,  at  breakfast.  And,  as  your  true 
English  Comedy  is  the  representation  of  nature,  I  could 
not  but  think  how  like  these  figures  on  the  stage,  and  the 
dialogue  which  they  used,  were  to  the  appearance  and 
talk  of  English  gentlemen  of  the  present  day. 

The  dialogue  went  on  somewhat  in  the  following 
fashion: — 

Bob  Fitzoffley  (enters  whistling). — "  The  top  of  the 
morning  to  thee,  Frank!  What!  at  breakfast  already? 
At  chocolate  and  the  Morning  Post,  like  a  dowager  of 
sixty?  Slang!  {he  pokes  the  servant  with  his  cane)  what 
has  come  to  thy  master,  thou  Prince  of  Valets !  thou  pat- 
tern of  Slaveys!  thou  swiftest  of  INIercuries!  Has  the 
Honourable  Francis  Nightrake  lost  his  heart,  or  his 
head,  or  his  health?  " 

Frank  (laying  down  the  paper) .— "  Bob,  Bob,  I  have 
lost  all  three !    I  have  lost  my  health,  Bob,  with  thee  and 
thy  like,  over  the  Burgundy  at  the  club ;  I  have  lost  my 
head,  Bob,  with  thinking  how  I  shall  pay  my  debts ;  and 
I  have  lost  my  heart.  Bob,  oh,  to  such  a  creature!  " 
Bo&.—**  A  Venus,  of  course?  " 
Slang. — "  With  the  presence  of  Juno." 
Bob.—"'  And  the  modesty  of  Minerva." 
Frank. — "  And  the  coldness  of  Diana." 
Bob.—"'  Pish!    What  a  sigh  is  that  about  a  woman! 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  209 

Thou  shalt  be  Endymion,  the  nightrake  of  old:  and  con- 
quer this  shy  goddess.     Hey,  Slang?  " 

Herewith  Slang  takes  the  lead  of  the  conversation, 
and  propounds  a  plot  for  running  away  with  the  heiress ; 
and  I  could  not  help  remarking  how  like  the  comedy 
was  to  life — how  the  gentlemen  always  say  "  thou,"  and 
"  prythee,"  and  "  go  to,"  and  talk  about  heathen  god- 
desses to  each  other ;  how  their  servants  are  always  their 
particular  intimates;  how  when  there  is  serious  love- 
making  between  a  gentleman  and  lady,  a  comic  at- 
tachment invariably  springs  up  between  the  valet  and 
waiting-maid  of  each ;  how  Lady  Grace  Gadabout,  when 
she  calls  upon  Rose  Ringdove  to  pay  a  morning  visit, 
appears  in  a  low  satin  dress,  with  jewels  in  her  hair;  how 
Saucebox,  her  attendant,  wears  diamond  brooches,  and 
rings  on  all  her  fingers :  while  ]Mrs.  Tallyho,  on  the  other 
hand,  transacts  all  the  business  of  life  in  a  riding-habit, 
and  always  points  her  jokes  by  a  cut  of  the  whip. 

This  playfulness  produced  a  roar  all  over  the  house, 
whenever  it  was  repeated,  and  always  made  our  little 
friends  clap  their  hands  and  shout  in  chorus. 

Like  that  hon-vivant  who  envied  the  beggars  staring 
into  the  cook-shop  windows,  and  wished  he  could  be 
hungry,  I  envied  the  boys,  and  wished  I  could  laugh, 
very  much.  In  the  last  act,  I  remember — for  it  is  now 
very  nearly  a  week  ago — everybody  took  refuge  either  in 
a  secret  door,  or  behind  a  screen  or  curtain,  or  under  a 
table,  or  up  a  chimney:  and  the  house  roared  as  each 
person  came  out  from  his  place  of  concealment.  And  the 
old  fellow  in  top-boots,  joining  the  hands  of  the  young 
couple  (Fitzoffley,  of  course,  pairing  off  with  the  wid- 
ow) ,  gave  them  his  blessing,  and  thirty  thousand  pounds. 


210  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

And  ah,  ye  gods!  if  I  wished  before  that  comedies 
were  like  Hfe,  how  I  wished  that  hfe  was  like  comedies! 
Whereon  the  drop  fell;  and  Augustus,  clapping  to  the 
opera-glass,  jumped  up,  crying—"  Hurray!  now  for  the 
Pantomime." 


Ill 

THE  composer  of  the  Overture  of  the  New  Grand 
Comic  Christmas  Pantomime,  Harlequin  and  the 
Fairy  of  the  Spangled  Pocket-handkerchief,  or  the 
Prince  of  the  Enchanted  Nose,  arrayed  in  a  bran-new 
Christmas  suit,  with  his  wristbands  and  collar  turned 
elegantly  over  his  cuif  s  and  embroidered  satin  tie,  takes 
a  place  at  his  desk,  waves  his  stick,  and  away  the  Panto- 
mime Overture  begins. 

I  pit}^  a  man  who  can't  appreciate  a  Pantomime 
Overture.  Children  do  not  like  it :  they  say,  "  Hang  it, 
I  wish  the  Pantomime  would  begin :  "  but  for  us  it  is 
always  a  pleasant  moment  of  reflection  and  enjoyment. 
It  is  not  difficult  music  to  understand,  like  that  of  your 
Mendelssohns  and  Beethovens,  whose  symphonies  and 
sonatas  Mrs.  Spec  states  must  be  heard  a  score  of  times 
before  you  can  comprehend  them.  But  of  the  proper 
Pantomime-music  I  am  a  delighted  connoisseur.  Per- 
haps it  is  because  you  meet  so  many  old  friends  in  these 
compositions  consorting  together  in  the  queerest  manner, 
and  occasioning  numberless  pleasant  surprises.  Hark! 
there  goes  ''  Old  Dan  Tucker "  wandering  into  the 
"  Groves  of  Blarney;  "  our  friends  the  "Scots  wha  hae 
m'   Wallace  hied "  march  rapidly  down  "  Wapping 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  211 

Old  Stairs/'  from  which  the  "Figlia  del  Reggimento  " 
comes  bounding  briskly,  when  she  is  met,  embraced,  and 
carried  oiF  by  ''Billy  TayloVj"  that  brisk  young 
fellow. 

All  this  while  you  are  thinking,  with  a  faint,  sickly 
kind  of  hope,  that  perhaps  the  Pantomime  rnay  be  a 
good  one;  something  like  Harlequin  and  the  Golden 
Orange-Tree,  which  you  recollect  in  your  youth;  some- 
thing like  Fortunio,  that  marvellous  and  delightful  piece 
of  buffoonery,  which  realized  the  most  gorgeous  visions 
of  the  absurd.  You  may  be  happy,  perchance :  a  glimpse 
of  the  old  days  may  come  back  to  you.  Lives  there  the 
man  with  soul  so  dead,  the  being  ever  so  hlase  and  travel- 
worn,  who  does  not  feel  some  shock  and  thrill  still:  just 
at  that  moment  when  the  bell  (the  dear  and  familiar  bell 
of  your  youth)  begins  to  tinkle,  and  the  curtain  to  rise, 
and  the  large  shoes  and  ankles,  the  flesh-coloured  leg- 
gings, the  crumpled  knees,  the  gorgeous  robes  and  masks 
finally,  of  the  actors  ranged  on  the  stage  to  shout  the 
opening  chorus? 

All  round  the  house  you  hear  a  great  gasping  a-ha-a 
from  a  thousand  children's  throats.  Enjoyment  is  going 
to  give  place  to  Hope.  Desire  is  about  to  be  realized. 
O  you  blind  little  brats!  Clap  your  hands,  and  crane 
over  the  boxes,  and  open  your  eyes  with  happy  wonder ! 
Clap  your  hands  now.  In  three  weeks  more  the  Rev- 
erend Doctor  Swishtail  expects  the  return  of  his  young 

friends  to  Sugarcane  House. 

*^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

^%  ^*  fZ^  ^s  ^x 

King  Beak,  Emperor  of  the  Romans,  having  invited 
all  the  neighbouring  Princes,  Fairies,  and  Enchanters 
to  the  feast  at  which  he  celebrated  the  marriage  of  his 
only  son.  Prince  Aquiline,  unluckily  gave  the  liver-wing 


212  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IX  LONDON 

of  the  fowl  which  he  was  carving  to  the  Prince's  god- 
mother, the  Fairy  Bandanna,  while  he  put  the  gizzard- 
pinion  on  the  plate  of  the  Enchanter  Gor gibus.  King  of 
the  ^laraschino  ^lountains,  and  father  of  the  Princess. 
Rosalia,  to  whom  the  Prince  was  affianced. 

The  outraged  Gor  gibus  rose  from  the  table  in  a  fury, 
smashed  his  plate  of  chicken  over  the  head  of  King 
Beak's  Chamberlain,  and  wished  that  Prince  Aquiline's 
nose  might  grow  on  the  instant  as  long  as  the  sausage 
before  him. 

It  did  so;  the  screaming  Princess  rushed  away  from 
her  bridegroom,  and  her  father,  breaking  off  the  match 
wath  the  House  of  Beak,  ordered  his  daughter  to  be 
carried  in  his  sedan  by  the  two  giant-porters,  Gor  and 
Gogstay,  to  his  castle  in  the  Juniper  Forest,  by  the  side 
of  the  bitter  waters  of  the  Absinthine  Lake,  whither,  after 
upsetting  the  marriage-tables,  and  flooring  King  Beak 
in  a  single  combat,  he  himself  repaired. 

The  latter  monarch  could  not  bear  to  see  or  even  to 
hear  his  disfigured  son. 

When  the  Prince  Aquiline  blew  his  unfortunate  and 
monstrous  nose,  the  windows  of  his  father's  palace  broke ; 
the  locks  of  the  door  started ;  the  dishes  and  glasses  of  the 
King's  banquet  jingled  and  smashed  as  they  do  on 
board  a  steamboat  in  a  storm ;  the  liquor  turned  sour ;  the 
Chancellor's  wig  started  off  his  head,  and  the  Prince's 
royal  father,  disgusted  with  his  son's  appearance,  drove 
him  forth  from  his  palace,  and  banished  him  the 
kingdom. 

Life  was  a  burden  to  him  on  account  of  that  nose.  He 
fled  from  a  world  in  which  he  was  ashamed  to  show  it, 
and  would  have  preferred  a  perfect  solitude,  but  that  he 
was  obliged  to  engage  one  faithful  attendant  to  give  him 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE 


213 


snufF  (his  only  consolation)  and  to  keep  his  odious  nose 
in  order. 

But  as  he  was  wandering  in  a  lonely  forest,  entangling 
his  miserable  trunk  in  the  thickets,  and  causing  the  birds 
to  fly  scared  from  the  branches,  and  the  lions,  stags,  and 
foxes  to  sneak  awa}^  in  terror  as  they  heard  the  tre- 
mendous booming  which  issued  from  the  fated  Prince 
whenever  he  had  occasion  to  use  his  pocket-handkerchief, 
the  Fairy  of  the  Bandanna  Islands  took  pity  on  him, 
and,  descending  in  her  car  drawn  by  doves,  gave  him 
a  'kerchief  which  rendered  him  invisible  whenever  he 
placed  it  over  his  monstrous  proboscis. 


Having  occasion  to  blow  his  nose  (which  he  was 
obliged  to  do  pretty  frequently,  for  he  had  taken  cold 
while  lying  out  among  the  rocks  and  morasses  in  the 
rainy  miserable  nights,  so  that  the  peasants,  when  they 
heard  him  snoring  fitfully,  thought  that  storms  were 
abroad,)  at  the  gates  of  the  castle  by  which  he  was  pass- 
ing, the  door  burst  open,  and  the  Irish  giant  (afterwards 


214  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Clown,  indeed, )  came  out,  and  wondering  looked  about, 
furious  to  see  no  one. 


'^^^ 


The  Prince  entered  into  the  castle,  and  whom  should 
he  find  there  but  the  Princess  Bosolia,  still  plunged  in 
despair.  Her  father  snubbed  her  perpetually.  "  I  wish 
he  would  snub  me !  "  exclaimed  the  Prince,  pointing  to 
his  own  monstrous  deformity.  In  spite  of  his  misfor- 
tune, she  still  remembered  her  Prince.  "  Even  with  his 
nose,"  the  faithful  Princess  cried,  "  I  love  him  more  than 
all  the  world  beside!  " 

At  this  declaration  of  unalterable  fidelity,  the  Prince 
flung  away  his  handkerchief,  and  knelt  in  rapture  at  the 
Princess's  feet.  She  was  a  little  scared  at  first  by  the 
hideousness  of  the  distorted  being  before  her— but  what 
will  not  woman's  faith  overcome?  Hiding  her  head  on 
his  shoulder  (and  so  losing  sight  of  his  misfortune),  she 
vowed  to  love  him  still  (in  those  broken  verses  which 
only  Princesses  in  Pantomimes  deliver) . 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE 


215 


At  this  instant  King  Gor gibus,  the  Giants,  the  King's 
Household,  Avith  clubs  and  battle-axes,  rushed  in. 
Drawing  his  immense  scimetar,  and  seizing  the  Prince 
by  his  too-prominent  feature,  he  was  just  on  the  point 
of  sacrificing  him,  when— when,  I  need  not  say, 
the  Fairy  Bandanna  (Miss  Bendigo),  in  her  amaran- 
thine car  drawn  by  Paphian  doves,  appeared  and  put  a 


stop  to  the  massacre.  King  Gorgihus  became  Panta- 
loon, the  two  Giants  first  and  second  Clowns,  and  the 
Prince  and  Princess  (who  had  been,  all  the  time  of  the 


216  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Fairy's  speech,  and  actually  while  under  their  father's 
scimetar,  unliooking  their  dresses)  became  the  most  ele- 
gant Harlequin  and  Columbine  that  I  have  seen  for 
many  a  long  day.  The  nose  flew  up  to  the  ceiling,  the 
music  began  a  jig,  and  the  two  Clowns,  after  saying, 
"  How  are  you? "  went  and  knocked  down  Pantaloon. 


IV 


N  the  conclusion 
of  the  panto- 
mime, the  pres- 
ent memorialist 
had  the  honour 
to  conduct  the 
ladies  under  his 
charge  to  the 
portico  of  the 
tlieatre,  where 
the  green  fly  was 
in  waiting  to  re- 
ceive them.  The 
driver  was  not 
more  inebriated 
than  usual;  the 
young  page  with 
the  gold-knob- 
bed hat  was  there 
to  protect  his 
mistresses ;  and 
though  the  chap- 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  217 

eron  of  the  party  certainly  invited  me  to  return  with 
them  to  Brompton  and  there  drink  tea,  the  proposal  was 
made  in  terms  so  faint,  and  the  refreshment  offered  was 
so  moderate,  that  I  declined  to  journey  six  miles  on  a 
cold  night  in  order  to  partake  of  such  a  meal.  The 
waterman  of  the  coach-stand,  who  had  made  himself  con- 
spicuous hy  bawling  out  for  Mrs.  Flather's  carriage,  was 
importunate  with  me  to  give  him  sixpence  for  pushing 
the  ladies  into  the  vehicle.  But  it  was  my  opinion  that 
Mrs.  riather  ought  to  settle  that  demand ;  and  as,  while 
the  fellow  was  urging  it,  she  only  pulled  up  the  glass, 
bidding  Cox's  man  to  drive  on,  I  of  course  did  not  inter- 
fere. In  vulgar  and  immoral  language  he  indicated,  as 
usual,  his  discontent.  I  treated  the  fellow  with  playful 
and,  I  hope,  gentlemanlike  satire. 

Master  Jones,  who  would  not  leave  the  box  in  the 
theatre  until  the  people  came  to  shroud  it  with  brown- 
hoUands,  (by  the  way,  to  be  the  last  person  in  a  theatre 
—to  put  out  the  last  light— and  then  to  find  one's  way 
out  of  the  vast,  black,  lonely  place,  must  require  a  very 
courageous  heart)  —  IMaster  Jones,  I  say,  had  previously 
taken  leave  of  us,  putting  his  arm  under  that  of  his  fa- 
ther's footman,  who  had  been  in  the  pit,  and  who  con- 
ducted him  to  Russell  Square.  I  heard  Augustus  pro- 
posing to  have  oysters  as  they  went  home,  though  he  had 
twice  in  the  course  of  the  performance  made  excursions 
to  the  cake-room  of  the  theatre,  where  he  had  partaken  of 
oranges,  macaroons,  apples,  and  ginger-beer. 

As  the  altercation  between  myself  and  the  linkman 
was  going  on,  young  Grigg  (brother  of  Grigg  of  the 
Lifeguards,  himself  reading  for  the  Bar)  came  up,  and 
hooking  his  arm  into  mine,  desired  the  man  to  leave  off 
"chaffing"  me;  asked  him  if  he  would  take  a  bill  at 


218  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

three  months  for  the  money ;  told  him  if  he  would  call  at 
the  "  Horns  Tavern,"  Kennington,  next  Tuesday  week, 
he  would  find  sixpence  there,  done  up  for  him  in  a  brown 
paper  parcel;  and  quite  routed  mj^  opponent.  "  I  know 
you,  Mr.  Grigg,"  said  he;  "you're  a  gentleman,  you 
are :  "  and  so  retired,  leaving  the  victory  with  me. 

Young  Mr.  Grigg  is  one  of  those  young  bucks  about 
town,  who  goes  every  night  of  his  life  to  two  Theatres, 
to  the  Casino,  to  Weippert's  balls,  to  the  Cafe  de  I'Hay- 
market,  to  Bob  Slogger's,  the  boxing-house,  to  the  Har- 
monic Meetings  at  the  "  Kidney  Cellars,"  and  other 
places  of  fashionable  resort.  He  knows  everybody  at 
these  haunts  of  pleasure;  takes  boxes  for  the  actors' 
benefits;  has  the  word  from  head-quarters  about  the 
venue  of  the  fight  between  Putney  Sambo  and  the  Tut- 
bury  Pet;  gets  up  little  dinners  at  their  public-houses; 
shoots  pigeons,  fights  cocks,  plays  fives,  has  a  boat  on 
the  river,  and  a  room  at  Rummer's  in  Conduit  Street, 
besides  his  Chambers  at  the  Temple,  where  his  parents. 
Sir  John  and  Lady  Grigg,  of  Portman  Square,  and 
Grigsby  Hall,  Yorkshire,  believe  that  he  is  assiduously 
occupied  in  studying  the  Law.  "  Tom  applies  too 
much,"  her  ladyship  saj^s.  "  His  father  was  obliged  to 
remove  him  from  Cambridge  on  account  of  a  brain- 
fever  brought  on  by  hard  reading,  and  in  consequence 
of  the  jealousy  of  some  of  the  collegians;  otherwise,  I 
am  told,  he  must  have  been  Senior  Wrangler,  and  seated 
first  of  the  Tripod." 

"  I'm  going  to  begin  the  evening,"  said  this  ingenuous 
young  fellow;  "  I've  only  been  at  the  Lowther  Arcade, 
Weippert's  hop,  and  the  billiard-rooms.  I  just  toddled 
in  for  half  an  hour  to  see  Brooke  in  Othello,  and  looked 
in  for  a  few  minutes  behind  the  scenes  at  the  Adelphi. 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  219 

What  shall  be  the  next  resort  of  pleasure,  Spec,  my 
elderly  juvenile?  Shall  it  be  the  '  Sherry-Cobbler  Stall,' 
or  the  '  Cave  of  Harmony? '  There's  some  prime  glee- 
singing  there." 

"  What!  is  the  old  '  Cave  of  Harmony  '  still  extant?  " 
I  asked.  "  I  have  not  been  there  these  twenty  years." 
And  memorj^  carried  me  back  to  the  days  when  Light- 
sides  of  Corpus,  myself,  and  little  Oaks,  the  Johnian, 
came  up  to  town  in  a  chaise-and-four,  at  the  long  vaca- 
tion at  the  end  of  our  freshman's  year,  ordered  turtle 
and  venison  for  dinner  at  the  "  Bedford,"  blubbered  over 
Black-eyed  Susan  at  the  play,  and  then  finished  the 
evening  at  that  vevy  Harmonic  Cave,  where  the  famous 
English  Improvisatore  sang  with  such  prodigious  talent 
that  we  asked  him  down  to  stay  with  us  in  the  country. 
Spurgin,  and  Hawker,  the  fellow-commoner  of  our  Col- 
lege, I  remember  me,  were  at  the  Cave  too,  and  Bar- 
dolph,  of  Brasenose.  Lord,  Lord!  what  a  battle  and 
struggle  and  wear  and  tear  of  life  there  has  been  since 
then!  Hawker  levanted,  and  Spurgin  is  dead  these  ten 
years ;  little  Oaks  is  a  whiskered  Captain  of  Heavj^  Dra- 
goons, who  cut  down  no  end  of  Sikhs  at  Sobraon ;  Light- 
sides,  a  Tractarian  parson,  who  turns  his  head  and  walks 
another  way  when  we  meet;  and  your  humble  serv^ant — 
well,  never  mind.  But  in  my  spirit  I  saw  them — all  those 
blooming  and  jovial  young  boys— and  Lightsides,  with 
a  cigar  in  his  face,  and  a  bang-up  white  coat,  covered 
with  mother-of-pearl  cheese-plates,  bellowing  out  for 
"  First  and  Second  Turn-out,"  as  our  j^ellow  post-chaise 
came  rattling  up  to  the  inn-door  at  Ware. 

"  And  so  the  '  Cave  of  Harmony '  is  open,"  I  said, 
looking  at  little  Grigg  with  a  sad  and  tender  interest, 
and  feeling  that  I  was  about  a  hundred  years  old. 


i 


220  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

"  I  believe  you^  my  baw-aw-oy!  "  said  he,  adopting  the 
tone  of  an  exceedingly  refined  and  popular  actor,  whose 
choral  and  comic  powers  render  him  a  general  favourite. 

"  Does  Bivins  keep  it?  "  I  asked,  in  a  voice  of  pro- 
found melanchol}^ 

"Hoh!  What  a  flat  you  are !  You  might  as  well  ask 
if  Mrs.  Siddons  acted  I^ady  Macbeth  to-night,  and  if 
Queen  Anne's  dead  or  not.  I  tell  you  what,  Spec,  my 
boy — you're  getting  a  regular  old  flat — fogy,  sir,  a  posi- 
tive old  fogy.  How  the  deuce  do  you  pretend  to  be  a 
man  about  town,  and  not  know  that  Bivins  has  left  the 
Cavern?  Law  bless  j^ou!  Come  in  and  see:  I  know  the 
landlord — I'll  introduce  you  to  him." 

This  was  an  offer  which  no  man  could  resist;  and  so 
Grigg  and  I  went  through  the  Piazza,  and  down  the 
steps  of  that  well-remembered  place  of  conviviality. 
Grigg  knew  everybody;  wagged  his  head  in  at  the  bar, 
and  called  for  two  glasses  of  his  particular  mixture; 
nodded  to  the  singers;  winked  at  one  friend — put  his 
little  stick  against  his  nose  as  a  token  of  recognition  to 
another;  and  calling  the  waiter  by  his  Christian  name, 
poked  him  playfully  with  the  end  of  his  cane,  and  asked 
him  vvhether  he,  Grigg,  should  have  a  lobster  kidney,  or  a 
mashed  oyster  and  scalloped  'taters,  or  a  poached  rabbit, 
for  supper? 

The  room  was  full  of  young  rakish-looking  lads,  with 
a  dubious  sprinkling  of  us  middle-aged  youth,  and  stal- 
wart red-faced  fellows  from  the  country,  with  whisky- 
noggins  before  them,  and  bent  upon  seeing  life.  A 
grand  piano  had  been  introduced  into  the  apartment, 
M^hich  did  not  exist  in  the  old  days :  otherwise,  all  was  as 
of  yore — smoke  rising  from  scores  of  human  chimneys, 
waiters  bustling  about  with  cigars  and  liquors  in  the  in- 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE 


221 


tervals  of  the  melody— and  the  President  of  the  meeting 
(Bivins  no  more)  encouraging  gents  to  give  their  orders. 
Just  as  the  music  was  about  to  begin,  I  looked  oppo- 
site me,  and  there,  by  heavens!  sat  Bardolph  of  Brase- 
nose,  only  a  little  more  purple  and  a  few  shades  more 
dingy  than  he  used  to  look  twenty  years  ago. 


,00K  at  that  old  Greek  in  the 
cloak  and  fur  collar  oppo- 
site," said  mj^  friend,  Mr. 
Grigg.  "  That  chap  is  here 
every  night.  They  call  him 
Lord  Farintosh.  He  has  five 
glasses  of  whisky-and-water 
every  night — seventeen  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  goes  of 
alcohol  in  a  j^ear;  we  totted 
it  up  one  night  at  the  bar. 
James  the  waiter  is  now  tak- 
ing number  three  to  him.  He 
don't  count  the  wine  he  has 
had  at  dinner."  Indeed,  James  the  waiter,  knowing  the 
gentleman's  peculiarities,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Mr.  Bar- 
dolph's  glass  nearly  empty,  brought  him  another  noggin 
and  a  jug  of  boiling  water  without  a  word. 

Memory  carried  me  instantaneously  back  to  the  days  of 
my  youth.  I  had  the  honour  of  being  at  school  with  Bar- 
dolph before  he  went  to  Brasenose ;  the  under  boys  used 
to  look  up  at  him  from  afar  off,  as  at  a  godlike  being. 


222  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

He  was  one  of  the  head  boys  of  the  school ;  a  prodigious 
dandj^  in  pigeon-hole  trousers,  ornamented  with  what 
they  called  "  tucks  "  in  front.  He  wore  a  ring— leaving 
the  little  finger  on  which  he  wore  the  jewel  out  of  his 
pocket,  in  which  he  carried  the  rest  of  his  hand.  He  had 
whiskers  even  then :  and  to  this  day  I  cannot  understand 
why  he  is  not  seven  feet  high.  When  he  shouted  out, 
"  Under  boy!  "  we  small  ones  trembled  and  came  to  him. 
I  recollect  he  called  me  once  from  a  hundred  j^ards  off, 
and  I  came  up  in  a  tremor.    He  pointed  to  the  ground. 

"  Pick  up  my  hockey-stick,"  he  said,  pointing  towards 
it  with  the  hand  with  the  ring  on!  He  had  dropped  the 
stick.  He  was  too  great,  wise,  and  good,  to  stoop  to  pick 
it  up  himself. 

He  got  the  silver  medal  for  Latin  Sapphics,  in  the 
year  Pogram  was  gold-medallist.  When  he  went  up 
to  Oxford,  the  Head  Master,  the  Rev.  J.  Flibber,  com- 
plimented him  in  a  valedictory  speech,  made  him  a  pres- 
ent of  books,  and  prophesied  that  he  would  do  great 
things  at  the  University.  He  had  got  a  scholarship,  and 
won  a  prize-poem,  which  the  Doctor  read  out  to  the 
sixth  form  with  great  emotion.  It  was  on  "  The  Recol- 
lections of  Childhood,"  and  the  last  lines  were, — 

"  Qualia  prospiciens  catulus  ferit  sethera  risu, 
Ipsaque  trans  lunae  cornua  vacca  salit." 

I  thought  of  these  things  rapidly,  gazing  on  the  in- 
dividual before  me.  The  brilliant  young  fellow  of  1815 
(by-the-by  it  was  the  Waterloo  year,  by  which  some 
people  may  remember  it  better;  but  at  school  we  spoke 
of  years  as  "  Pogram's  year,"  "  Tokely's  year,"  &c.)  — 
there,  I  say,  sat  before  me  the  dashing  young  buck  of 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE 


223 


1815,  a  fat,  muzzy,  red-faced  old  man,  in  a  battered  hat, 

absorbing  whisky-and-water,  and  half  listening  to  the 
singing. 

! 


A  wild,  long-haired,  professional  gentleman,  with  a 
fluty  voice  and  with  his  shirt-collar  turned  down,  began 
to  sing  as  follows: — 

"WHEN  THE  GLOOM  IS  ON  THE  GLEN 

"  When  the  moonlight's  on  the  mountain 

And  the  gloom  is  on  the  glen. 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain 

There  is  one  will  meet  thee  then. 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain ; 

Yes,  the  cross  beside  the  fountain. 
There  is  one  will  meet  thee  then ! 


[Down  goes  half  of  Mr.  Bardolph's  No.  3  Whisky 

during  this  refrain.'] 


224  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

"  I  have  braved,  since  first  we  met,  love, 
Many  a  danger  in  my  course; 
But  I  never  can  forget,  love. 

That  dear  fountain,  that  old  cross. 
Where,  her  mantle  shrouded  o'er  her — 

For  the  winds  were  chilly  then — 
First  I  met  my  Leonora, 

When  the  gloom  was  on  the  glen. 
Yes,  I  met  my  &c. 

\_Another  gulp  and  almost  total  disappearance  of 
Whisky-Go,  No.  3.] 

"  Many  a  clime  I've  ranged  since  then,  love, 

Many  a  land  I've  wandered  o'er; 
But  a  valley  like  that  glen,  love, 

Half  so  dear  I  never  sor! 
Ne'er  saw  maiden  fairer,  coyer, 

Than  wert  thou,  my  true  love,  when 
In  the  gloaming  first  I  saw  yer. 

In  the  gloaming  of  the  glen !  " 

Bardolph,  who  had  not  shown  the  least  symptom  of 
emotion  as  the  gentleman  with  the  flut}^  voice  performed 
this  delectable  composition,  began  to  whack,  whack, 
w^hack  on  the  mahogany  with  his  pewter  measure  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  song,  wishing,  perhaps,  to  show  that 
the  noggin  was  empty;  in  which  manner  James,  the 
waiter,  interpreted  the  signal,  for  he  brought  Mr.  Bar- 
dolph another  supply  of  liquor. 

The  song,  words,  and  music,  composed  and  dedicated 
to  Charles  Bivins,  Esquire,  by  Frederic  Snape,  and  or- 
namented with  a  picture  of  a  young  lady,  with  large 
eyes  and  short  petticoats,  leaning  at  a  stone  cross  by  a 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  225 

fountain,  was  now  handed  about  the  room  by  a  waiter, 
and  any  gentleman  was  at  liberty  to  purchase  it  for  half- 
a-crown.  The  man  did  not  offer  the  song  to  Bardolph; 
he  was  too  old  a  hand. 

After  a  pause,  the  president  of  the  musical  gents  cried 
out  for  silence  again,  and  then  stated  to  the  company 
that  Mr.  Hoff  would  sing  "  Tlie  Red  Flag;'  which  an- 
nouncement was  received  by  the  Society  with  immense 
applause,  and  Mr.  HofF,  a  gentleman  whom  I  remember 
to  have  seen  exceedingly  unwell  on  board  a  Gravesend 
steamer,  began  the  following  terrific  ballad: — 

"THE   RED   FLAG 

"  Where  the  quivering  lightning  flings 

His  arrows  from  out  the  clouds. 
And  the  howling  tempest  sings, 

And  whistles  among  the  shrouds, 
'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant  to  ride 

Along  the  foaming  brine — 
Wilt  be  the  Rover's  bride? 

Wilt  follow  him,  lady  mine? 
Hurrah! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  brine. 


"  Amidst  the  storm  and  rack 


You  shall  see  our  galley  pass 
As  a  serpent,  lithe  and  black. 

Glides  through  the  waving  grass. 
As  the  vulture  swift  and  dark, 

Down  on  the  ring-dove  flies, 
You  shall  see  the  Rover's  bark 

Swoop  down  upon  his  prize. 
Hurrah ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  prize. 


226  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

"  Over  her  sides  we  dash, 

We  gallop  across  her  deck — 
Ha !  there's  a  ghastly  gash 

On  the  merchant-captain's  neck — 
Well  shot,  well  shot,  old  Ned ! 

Well  struck,  well  struck,  black  James ! 
Our  arms  are  red,  and  our  foes  are  dead, 

And  we  leave  a  ship  in  flames ! 
Hurrah ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  flames !  " 

Frantic  shouts  of  applause  and  encore  hailed  the  atro- 
cious sentiments  conveyed  by  ]Mr.  Hoff  in  this  ballad, 
from  everybody  except  Bardolph,  who  sat  muzzy  and 
unmoved,  and  only  winked  to  the  waiter  to  bring  him 
some  more  whisky. 


VI 

WHEN  the  piratical  ballad  of  Mr.  Hoif  was  con- 
cluded, a  simple  and  quiet-looking  young  gen- 
tleman performed  a  comic  song,  in  a  way  which,  I  must 
confess,  inspired  me  with  the  utmost  melancholy.  Seated 
at  the  table  with  the  other  professional  gents,  this  young 
gentleman  was  in  no  wise  to  be  distinguished  from  any 
other  young  man  of  fashion:  he  has  a  thin,  handsome, 
and  rather  sad  countenance;  and  appears  to  be  a  per- 
fectly sober  and  meritorious  young  man.  But  suddenly 
(and  I  daresay  every  night  of  his  life)  he  pulls  a  little 
flexible,  grey  countryman's  hat  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
the  moment  he  has  put  it  on,  his  face  assumes  an  ex- 
pression  of   unutterable   vacuity   and    folly,    his    eyes 


A  NIGHT'S   PLEASURE 


227 


goggle  round  savage,  and  his  mouth  stretches  almost 
to  his  ears,  as  thus,  and  he  begins  to  sing  a  rustic  song. 


wiTHOxrr  HIS  hat 


IN  HIS  COMIC  HAT 


The  battle-song  and  the  sentimental  ballad  already 
published  are,  I  trust,  sufficiently  foolish,  and  fair  spe- 
cimens of  the  class  of  poetry  to  which  they  belong;  but 
the  folly  of  the  comic  country  song  was  so  great  and 
matchless,  that  I  am  not  going  to  compete  for  a  moment 
with  the  author,  or  to  venture  to  attempt  anything  like 
his  style  of  composition.  It  was  something  about  a  man 
going  a-courting  Molly,  and  "  feayther,"  and  "  kyows," 
and  "  peegs,"  and  other  rustic  produce.  The  idiotic  verse 
was  interspersed  with  spoken  passages,  of  corresponding 
imbecility.  For  the  time  during  which  Mr.  Grinsby  per- 
formed this  piece,  he  consented  to  abnegate  altogether 
his  claim  to  be  considered  as  a  reasonable  being;  utterly 


228  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

to  debase  himself,  in  order  to  make  the  company  laugh; 
and  to  forget  the  rank,  dignity,  and  privileges  of  a  man. 

His  song  made  me  so  profoundly  wretched  that  little 
Grigg,  remarking  my  depression,  declared  I  was  as  slow 
as  a  parliamentary  train.  I  was  glad  they  didn't  have  the 
song  over  again.  When  it  was  done,  Mr.  Grinsby  put 
his  little  grey  hat  in  his  pocket,  the  maniacal  grin  sub- 
sided from  his  features,  and  he  sat  down  with  his  natu- 
rally sad  and  rather  handsome  young  countenance. 

O  Grinsby,  thinks  I,  what  a  number  of  people  and 
things  in  this  world  do  you  represent!  Though  we 
weary  hstening  to  you,  we  may  moralise  over  you; 
though  you  sing  a  foolish,  witless  song,  j^ou  poor  young 
melancholy  jester,  there  is  some  good  in  it  that  may  be 
had  for  the  seeking.  Perhaps  that  lad  has  a  family  at 
home  dependent  on  his  grinning :  I  may  entertain  a  rea- 
sonable hope  that  he  has  despair  in  his  heart;  a  com- 
plete notion  of  the  folly  of  the  business  in  which  he  is 
engaged;  a  contempt  for  the  fools  laughing  and  guf- 
fawing round  about  at  his  miserable  jokes;  and  a  per- 
fect weariness  of  mind  at  their  original  dulness  and  con- 
tinued repetition.  What  a  sinking  of  spirit  must  come 
over  that  young  man,  quiet  in  his  chamber  or  family, 
orderly  and  sensible  like  other  mortals,  when  the  thought 
of  tom-fool  hour  comes  across  him,  and  that  at  a  certain 
time  that  night,  whatever  may  be  his  health,  or  distaste, 
or  mood  of  mind  or  body,  there  he  must  be,  at  a  table 
at  the  "  Cave  of  Harmony,"  uttering  insane  ballads, 
with  an  idiotic  grin  on  his  face  and  hat  on  his  head. 

To  suppose  that  Grinsby  has  any  personal  pleasure 
in  that  song,  would  be  to  have  too  low  an  opinion  of 
human  nature :  to  imagine  that  the  applauses  of  the  mul- 
titude of  the  frequenters  of  the  Cave  tickled  his  vanity, 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  229 

or  are  bestowed  upon  him  deservedly — would  be,  I  say, 
to  think  too  hardly  of  him.  Look  at  him.  He  sits 
there  quite  a  quiet,  orderly  young  fellow.  Mark  with 
what  an  abstracted,  sad  air  he  joins  in  the  chorus  of  INIr. 
Snape's  second  song,  "  The  Minaret's  bells  o'er  the  Bos- 
phorus  toll,"  and  having  applauded  his  comrade  at  the 
end  of  the  song  (as  I  have  remarked  these  poor  gentle- 
men always  do) ,  moodily  resumes  the  stump  of  his  cigar. 

"  I  wonder,  my  dear  Grigg,  how  many  men  there  are 
in  the  city  who  follow  a  similar  profession  to  Grinsby's  ? 
What  a  number  of  poor  rogues,  wits  in  their  circle,  or 
bilious,  or  in  debt,  or  henpecked,  or  otherwise  miserable 
in  their  private  circumstances,  come  grinning  out  to  din- 
ner of  a  night,  and  laugh  and  crack,  and  let  off  their 
good  stories  like  yonder  professional  funny  fellow? 
Why,  I  once  went  into  the  room  of  that  famous  dinner- 
party conversationalist  and  wit,  Horsely  CoUard;  and 
whilst  he  was  in  his  dressing-room  arranging  his  wig, 
just  looked  over  the  books  on  the  table  before  his  sofa. 
There  were  '  Burton's  Anatomy '  for  the  quotations, 
three  of  which  he  let  off  that  night;  '  Spence's  Literary 
Anecdotes,'  of  which  he  fortuitously  introduced  a  couple 
in  the  course  of  the  evening ;  '  Baker's  Chronicle ; '  the 
last  new  Novel,  and  a  book  of  Metaphysics,  every  one  of 
which  I  heard  him  quote,  besides  four  stories  out  of  his 
common-place  book,  at  which  I  took  a  peep  under  the 
pillow.  He  was  like  Grinsby."  Who  isn't  like  Grinsby 
in  life?  thought  I  to  myself,  examining  that  young 
fellow. 

"  When  Bawler  goes  down  to  the  House  of  Commons 
from  a  meeting  with  his  creditors,  and  having  been  a 
bankrupt  a  month  before,  becomes  a  patriot  all  of  a 
sudden,   and  pours  you   out  an  intensely  interesting 


230  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

speech  upon  the  West  Indies,  or  the  Window  Tax,  he 
is  no  better  than  the  poor  gin-and-water  practitioner 
yonder,  and  performs  in  his  Cave,  as  Grinsby  in  his 
under  the  Piazza. 

"  When  Serjeant  Bluebag  fires  into  a  witness,  or 
performs  a  jocular  or  a  pathetic  speech  to  a  jury,  in 
what  is  he  better  than  Grinsby,  except  in  so  far  as  the 
amount  of  gain  goes? — than  poor  Grinsby  rapping  at 
the  table  and  cutting  professional  jokes,  at  half-a-pint- 
of- whisky  fee? 

"  When  Tightrope,  the  celebrated  literary  genius, 
sits  down  to  write  and  laugh — with  the  children  very 
likely  ill  at  home — Avith  a  strong  personal  desire  to  write 
a  tragedy  or  a  sermon,  with  his  wife  scolding  him,  his 
head  racking  with  pain,  his  mother-in-law  making  a 
noise  at  his  ears,  and  telling  him  that  he  is  a  heartless 
and  abandoned  ruffian,  his  tailor  in  the  passage,  vowdng 
that  he  will  not  quit  that  place  until  his  little  bill  is  set- 
tled— when,  I  say,  Tightrope  writes  off,  under  the  most 
miserable  private  circumstances,  a  brilliant  funny  ar- 
ticle, in  how  much  is  he  morally  superior  to  my  friend 
Grinsby?  When  Lord  Colchicum  stands  bowing  and 
smiling  before  his  sovereign,  with  gout  in  his  toes  and 
grief  in  his  heart;  when  parsons  in  the  pulpit — when 
editors  at  their  desks — forget  their  natural  griefs,  plea- 
sures, opinions,  to  go  through  the  business  of  life,  the 
masquerade  of  existence,  in  what  are  they  better  than 
Grinsby  yonder,  who  has  similarly  to  perform  his  buf- 
fooning? " 

As  I  w^as  continuing  in  this  moral  and  interrogatory 
mood — no  doubt  boring  poor  little  Grigg,  who  came  to 
the  Cave  for  pleasure,  and  not  for  philosophical  dis- 
course— ]Mr.  Bardolph  opposite  caught  a  sight  of  the 


A  NIGHT'S  PLEASURE  231 

present  writer  through  the  fumes  of  the  cigars,  and 
came  across  to  our  table,  holding  his  fourth  glass  of 
toddy  in  his  hand.  He  held  out  the  other  to  me:  it  was 
hot,  and  gouty,  and  not  particularly  clean. 

"  Deuced  queer  place  this,  hey? "  said  he,  pretending 
to  survey  it  with  the  air  of  a  stranger.  "  I  come  here 
every  now  and  then,  on  my  way  home  to  Lincoln's  Inn 
— from — from  parties  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  It 
is  frequented  by  a  parcel  of  queer  people — low  shop- 
boys  and  attorneys'  clerks;  but,  hang  it,  sir,  they  know 
a  gentleman  when  they  see  one,  and  not  one  of  those  fel- 
lows would  dare  to  speak  to  me— no,  not  one  of  'em,  by 
Jove— if  I  didn't  address  him  first,  by  Jove!  I  don't 
suppose  there's  a  man  in  this  room  could  construe  a 
page  in  the  commonest  Greek  book.  You  heard  that 
donkey  singing  about  *  Leonorar '  and  '  before  her? ' 
How  Flibber  would  have  given  it  to  us  for  such  rhymes, 
hey?  A  parcel  of  ignoramuses!  but,  hang  it,  sir,  they 
do  know  a  gentleman!"  And  here  he  winked  at  me 
with  a  vinous  bloodshot  eye,  as  much  as  to  intimate  that 
he  was  infinitely  superior  to  every  person  in  the  room. 

Now  this  Bardolph,  having  had  the  ill-luck  to  get  a 
fellowship,  and  subsequently  a  small  private  fortune, 
has  done  nothing  since  the  year  1820  but  get  drunk  and 
read  Greek.  He  despises  every  man  that  does  not  know 
that  language  (so  that  you  and  I,  my  dear  sir,  come  in 
for  a  fair  share  of  his  contempt).  He  can  still  put  a 
slang  song  into  Greek  Iambics,  or  turn  a  police  report 
into  the  language  of  Tacitus  or  Herodotus;  but  it  is 
difficult  to  see  what  accomplishment  beyond  this  the 
boozy  old  mortal  possesses.  He  spends  nearly  a  third 
part  of  his  life  and  income  at  his  dinner,  or  on  his  whisky 
at  a  tavern;  more  than  another  third  portion  is  spent 


232  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

in  bed.  It  is  past  noon  before  he  gets  up  to  breakfast, 
and  to  spell  over  The  Times,  which  business  of  the  day- 
being  completed,  it  is  time  for  him  to  dress  and  take  his 
walk  to  the  Club  to  dinner.  He  scorns  a  man  who  puts 
his  h's  in  the  wrong  place,  and  spits  at  a  human  being 
who  has  not  had  a  University  education.  And  yet  I  am 
sure  that  bustling  waiter  pushing  about  with  a  bumper 
of  cigars;  that  tallow-faced  young  comic  singer;  yon- 
der harmless  and  happy  Snobs,  enjoying  the  convivi- 
ality of  the  evening  (and  all  the  songs  are  quite  modest 
now,  not  like  the  ribald  old  ditties  which  they  used  to 
sing  in  former  days) ,  are  more  useful,  more  honourable, 
and  more  worthy  men,  than  that  whiskyfied  old  scholar 
who  looks  down  upon  them  and  their  like. 

He  said  he  would  have  a  sixth  glass  if  we  would  stop: 
but  we  didn't;  and  he  took  his  sixth  glass  without  us. 
JNIy  melancholy  young  friend  had  begun  another  comic 
song,  and  I  could  bear  it  no  more.  The  market  carts 
were  rattling  into  Covent  Garden;  and  the  illuminated 
clock  marked  all  sorts  of  small  hours  as  we  concluded 
this  night's  pleasure. 


GOING  TO   SEE  A  MAN  HANGED' 

July,  1840. 

,  who  had  voted  with  jNIr.  Ewart  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  punishment  of  death,  was  anxious  to 
see  the  effect  on  the  pubhc  mind  of  an  execution,  and 
asked  me  to  accompany  him  to  see  Courvoisier  killed. 
We  had  not  the  advantage  of  a  sheriff's  order,  like  the 
"  six  hundred  noblemen  and  gentlemen  "  who  were  ad- 
mitted within  the  walls  of  the  prison ;  but  determined  to 
mingle  with  the  crowd  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  and 
take  up  our  positions  at  a  very  early  hour. 

As  I  was  to  rise  at  three  in  the  morning,  I  went  to 
bed  at  ten,  thinking  that  five  hours'  sleep  would  be  amply 
sufficient  to  brace  me  against  the  fatigues  of  the  com- 
ing day.  But,  as  might  have  been  expected,  the  event 
of  the  morrow  was  perpetually  before  my  eyes  through 
the  night,  and  kept  them  wide  open.  I  heard  all  the 
clocks  in  the  neighbourhood  chime  the  hours  in  succes- 
sion; a  dog  from  some  court  hard  by  kept  up  a  pitiful 
howling;  at  one  o'clock,  a  cock  set  up  a  feeble,  melan- 
choly crowing;  shortly  after  two  the  dajdight  came 
peeping  grey  through  the  window-shutters;  and  by  the 

time  that  X arrived,  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise, 

I  had  been  asleep  about  half-an-hour.  He,  more  wise, 
had  not  gone  to  rest  at  all,  but  had  remained  up  all 
night  at  the  Club,  along  with  Dash  and  two  or  three 
more.    Dash  is  one  of  the  most  eminent  wits  in  London, 

^  Originally  published  in  Fraser^s  Magazine. 
233 


234  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  had  kept  the  company  merry  all  night  with  ap- 
propriate jokes  about  the  coming  event.  It  is  curious 
that  a  murder  is  a  great  inspirer  of  jokes.  We  aU  like 
to  laugh  and  have  our  fling  about  it;  there  is  a  certain 
grim  pleasure  in  the  circumstance — a  perpetual  jingling 
antithesis  between  life  and  death,  that  is  sure  of  its 
effect. 

In  mansion  or  garret,  on  down  or  straw,  surrounded 
by  weeping  friends  and  solemn  oily  doctors,  or  tossing 
unheeded  upon  scanty  hospital  beds,  there  were  many 
people  in  this  great  city  to  whom  that  Sunday  night 
was  to  be  the  last  of  anj^  that  thej^  should  pass  on  earth 
here.  In  the  course  of  half-a-dozen  dark,  wakeful  hours, 
one  had  leisure  to  think  of  these  ( and  a  little,  too,  of  that 
certain  supreme  night,  that  shall  come  at  one  time  or 
other,  when  he  who  writes  shall  be  stretched  upon  the 
last  bed,  prostrate  in  the  last  struggle,  taking  the  last 
look  of  dear  faces  that  have  cheered  us  here,  and  linger- 
ing— one  moment  more — ere  we  part  for  the  tremen- 
dous journey)  ;  but,  chieflj^  I  could  not  help  thinking, 
as  each  clock  sounded,  what  is  he  doing  now?  has  he 
heard  it  in  his  little  room  in  Newgate  yonder?  Eleven 
o'clock.  He  has  been  writing  until  now.  The  gaoler 
says  he  is  a  pleasant  man  enough  to  be  with ;  but  he  can 
hold  out  no  longer,  and  is  very  weary.  "  Wake  me  at 
four,"  saj^s  he,  "  for  I  have  still  much  to  put  down." 
From  eleven  to  twelve  the  gaoler  hears  how  he  is  grind- 
ing his  teeth  in  his  sleep.  At  twelve  he  is  up  in  his  bed, 
and  asks,  "  Is  it  the  time?  "  He  has  plenty  more  time 
yet  for  sleep ;  and  he  sleeps,  and  the  bell  goes  on  tolling. 
Seven  hours  more — five  hours  more.  ]Many  a  carriage 
is  clattering  through  the  streets,  bringing  ladies  away 
from  evening  parties;  many  bachelors  are  reehng  home 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     235 

after  a  jolly  night;  Covent  Garden  is  alive  and  the  light 
coming  through  the  cell-window  turns  the  gaoler's  can- 
dle pale.  Four  hours  more!  "  Courvoisier,"  saj^s  the 
gaoler,  shaking  him,  "  it's  four  o'clock  now,  and  I've 
woke  you  as  you  told  me;  but  there's  no  call  for  you 
to  get  up  yet."  The  poor  WTctch  leaves  his  bed,  how- 
ever, and  makes  his  last  toilet ;  and  then  falls  to  writing, 
to  tell  the  world  how  he  did  the  crime  for  which  he  has 
suffered.  This  time  he  will  tell  the  truth,  and  the  whole 
truth.  Thej^  bring  him  his  breakfast  "  from  the  coffee- 
shop  opposite — tea,  coffee,  and  thin  bread  and  butter." 
He  will  take  nothing,  however,  but  goes  on  writing.  He 
has  to  write  to  his  mother — the  pious  mother  far  away  in 
his  own  country — who  reared  him  and  loved  him;  and 
even  now  has  sent  him  her  forgiveness  and  her  blessing. 
He  finishes  his  memorials  and  letters,  and  makes  his  will, 
disposing  of  his  little  miserable  property  of  books  and 
tracts  that  pious  people  have  furnished  him  with.  "  Ce 
6  Juillet,  1840.  Francois  Benjamin  Courvoisier  vous 
donne  ceci,  mon  ami,  ponr  souvenir."  He  has  a  token 
for  his  dear  friend  the  gaoler ;  another  for  his  dear  friend 
the  under-sheriff.  As  the  day  of  the  convict's  death 
draws  nigh,  it  is  painful  to  see  how  he  fastens  upon 
everybody  who  approaches  him,  how  pitifully  he  clings 
to  them  and  loves  them. 

While  these  things  are  going  on  within  the  prison 
(with  which  we  are  made  accurately  acquainted  by  the 
copious  chronicles  of  such  events  which  are  published 

subsequently),  X 's  carriage  has  driven  up  to  the 

door  of  my  lodgings,  and  we  have  partaken  of  an  ele- 
gant dejeuner  that  has  been  prepared  for  the  occasion. 
A  cup  of  coffee  at  half -past  three  in  the  morning  is  un- 
commonly pleasant;  and  X enlivens  us  with  the 


236  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

repetition  of  the  jokes  that  Dash  has  just  been  making. 
Admirable,  certainly — they  must  have  had  a  merry 
night  of  it,  that's  clear;  and  we  stoutlj^  debate  whether,- 
when  one  has  to  get  up  so  early  in  the  morning,  it  is 
best  to  have  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep,  or  wait  and  go  to 
bed  afterwards  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work.  That  fowl 
is  extraordinarily  tough — the  wing,  even,  is  as  hard  as 
a  board;  a  slight  disappointment,  for  there  is  nothing 
else  for  breakfast.  "  Will  any  gentleman  have  some 
sherry  and  soda-water  before  he  sets  out?  It  clears  the 
brains  famously."  Thus  primed,  the  party  sets  out. 
The  coachman  has  dropped  asleep  on  the  box,  and  wakes 
up  wildly  as  the  hall-door  opens.  It  is  just  four  o'clock. 
About  this  very  time  they  are  waking  up  poor — pshaw! 

who  is  for  a  cigar?    X does  not  smoke  himself;  but 

vows  and  protests,  in  the  kindest  way  in  the  world,  that 
he  does  not  care  in  the  least  for  the  new  drab-silk  lin- 
ings in  his  carriage.  Z ,  who  smokes,  mounts,  how- 
ever, the  box.  "  Drive  to  Snow  Hill,"  says  the  owner 
of  the  chariot.  The  policemen,  who  are  the  only  people 
in  the  street,  and  are  standing  by,  look  knowing — they 
know  what  it  means  well  enough. 

How  cool  and  clean  the  streets  look,  as  the  carriage 
startles  the  echoes  that  have  been  asleep  in  the  corners 
all  night.  Somebody  has  been  sweeping  the  pavements 
clean  in  the  night-time  surely;  they  would  not  soil  a 
lady's  white  satin  shoes,  the}^  are  so  dry  and  neat.    There 

is  not  a  cloud  or  a  breath  in  the  air,  except  Z 's  cigar, 

which  whifFs  off,  and  soars  straight  upwards  in  volumes 
of  white,  pure  smoke.  The  trees  in  the  squares  look 
bright  and  green — as  bright  as  leaves  in  the  country  in 
June.  We  who  keep  late  hours  don't  know  the  beauty 
of  London  air  and  verdure;  in  the  early  morning  they 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     237 

are  delightful— the  most  fresh  and  lively  companions 
possible.  But  thej^  cannot  bear  the  crowd  and  the  bustle 
of  mid-day.  You  don't  know  them  then — they  are  no 
longer  the  same  things.  We  have  come  to  Gray's  Inn ; 
there  is  actually  dew  upon  the  grass  in  the  gardens ;  and 
the  windows  of  the  stout  old  red  houses  are  all  in  a 
flame. 

As  we  enter  Holborn  the  town  grows  more  animated ; 
and  there  are  already  twice  as  many  people  in  the  streets 
as  you  see  at  mid-day  in  a  German  Residenz  or  an  Eng- 
lish provincial  town.  The  gin-shop  keepers  have  many 
of  them  taken  their  shutters  down,  and  many  persons 
are  issuing  from  them  pipe  in  hand.  Down  they  go 
along  the  broad  bright  street,  their  blue  shadows  march- 
ing after  them;  for  they  are  all  bound  the  same  way, 
and  are  bent  like  us  upon  seeing  the  hanging. 

It  is  twenty  minutes  past  four  as  we  pass  St.  Sepul- 
chre's: by  this  time  many  hundred  people  are  in  the 
street,  and  many  more  are  coming  up  Snow  Hill.  Be- 
fore us  lies  Newgate  Prison ;  but  something  a  great  deal 
more  awful  to  look  at,  which  seizes  the  eye  at  once,  and 
makes  the  heart  beat,  is 


There  it  stands  black  and  ready,  jutting  out  from  a 
little  door  in  the  prison.  As  you  see  it,  you  feel  a  kind 
of  dumb  electric  shock,  which  causes  one  to  start  a  little, 
and  give  a  sort  of  gasp  for  breath.    The  shock  is  over 


238  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

in  a  second;  and  presently  you  examine  the  object  before 
you  with  a  certain  feeling  of  complacent  curiosity.  At 
least,  such  was  the  effect  that  the  gallows  produced  upon 
the  writer,  who  is  trying  to  set  down  all  his  feelings  as 
they  occurred,  and  not  to  exaggerate  them  at  all. 

After  the  gallows-shock  had  subsided,  we  went  down 
into  the  crowd,  which  was  very  numerous,  but  not  dense 
as  yet.  It  was  evident  that  the  day's  business  had  not 
begun.  People  sauntered  up,  and  formed  groups,  and 
talked;  the  new  comers  asking  those  who  seemed  habi- 
tues of  the  place  about  former  executions;  and  did  the 
victim  hang  with  his  face  towards  the  clock  or  towards 
Ludgate  Hill  ?  and  had  he  the  rope  round  his  neck  when 
he  came  on  the  scaffold,  or  was  it  put  on  by  Jack  Ketch 

afterwards  ?  and  had  Lord  W taken  a  window,  and 

which  was  he?  I  maj^  mention  the  noble  INIarquis's  name, 

as  he  was  not  at  the  exhibition.    A  pseudo  W was 

pointed  out  in  an  opposite  window,  towards  whom  all 
the  people  in  our  neighbourhood  looked  eagerly,  and 
with  great  respect  too.  The  mob  seemed  to  have  no  sort 
of  ill-will  against  him,  but  sympathy  and  admiration. 
This  noble  lord's  personal  courage  and  strength  have 
won  the  plebs  over  to  him.  Perhaps  his  exploits  against 
policemen  have  occasioned  some  of  this  popularity;  for 
the  mob  hate  them,  as  children  the  schoolmaster. 

Throughout  the  whole  four  hours,  however,  the  mob 
was  extraordinarily  gentle  and  good-humoured.  At  first 
we  had  leisure  to  talk  to  the  people  about  us;  and  I 

recommend  X 's  brother  senators  of  both  sides  of 

the  House  to  see  more  of  this  same  people  and  to  ap- 
preciate them  better.  Honourable  Members  are  bat- 
tling and  struggling  in  the  House;  shouting,  yelling, 
crowing,  hear-hearing,  pooh-poohing,  making  speeches 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     239 

of  three  columns,  and  gaining  "  great  Conservative  tri- 
umphs," or  "  signal  successes  of  the  Reform  cause,"  as 
the  case  may  be.  Three  hundred  and  ten  gentlemen  of 
good  fortune,  and  able  for  the  most  part  to  quote 
Horace,  declare  solemnly  that  unless  Sir  Robert  comes 
in,  the  nation  is  ruined.  Three  hundred  and  fifteen  on 
the  other  side  swear  by  their  great  gods  that  the  safety 
of  the  empire  depends  upon  Lord  John ;  and  to  this  end 
they  quote  Horace  too.  I  declare  that  I  have  never  been 
in  a  great  London  crowd  without  thinking  of  what  they 
call  the  two  "  great  "  parties  in  England  with  wonder. 
For  which  of  the  two  great  leaders  do  these  people  care, 
I  pray  you?  When  Lord  Stanley  withdrew  his  Irish 
bill  the  other  night,  were  they  in  transports  of  joy,  like 
worthy  persons  who  read  the  Globe  and  the  Chronicle? 
or  when  he  beat  the  IMinisters,  were  they  wild  with  de- 
light, like  honest  gentlemen  who  read  the  Post  and  the 
Times?  Ask  yonder  ragged  fellow,  who  has  evidently  fre- 
quented debating-clubs,  and  speaks  with  good  sense  and 
shrewd  good-nature.  He  cares  no  more  for  Lord  John 
than  he  does  for  Sir  Robert;  and,  with  due  respect  be  it 
said,  would  mind  very  little  if  both  of  them  were  ushered 
out  by  Mr.  Ketch,  and  took  their  places  under  j^onder 
black  beam.  What  are  the  two  great  parties  to  him,  and 
those  like  him?  Sheer  wind,  hollow  humbug,  absurd 
claptraps;  a  silly  mummery  of  dividing  and  debating, 
which  does  not  in  the  least,  however  it  may  turn,  affect 
his  condition.  It  has  been  so  ever  since  the  happy  days 
when  Whigs  and  Tories  began;  and  a  pretty  pastime 
no  doubt  it  is  for  both.  August  parties,  great  balances 
of  British  freedom :  are  not  the  two  sides  quite  as  active, 
and  eager,  and  loud,  as  at  their  very  birth,  and  ready 
to  fight  for  place  as  stoutly  as  ever  they  fought  before? 


240  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

But  lo!  in  the  meantime,  whilst  you  are  jangling  and 
brawling  over  the  accounts,  Populus,  whose  estate  you 
have  administered  while  he  was  an  infant,  and  could  not 
take  care  of  himself— Populus  has  been  growing  and 
growing,  till  he  is  every  bit  as  wise  as  his  guardians. 
Talk  to  our  ragged  friend.  He  is  not  so  polished,  per- 
haps, as  a  member  of  the  "  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
Club;  "  he  has  not  been  to  Eton;  and  never  read  Horace 
in  his  life:  but  he  can  think  just  as  soundly  as  the  best 
of  you ;  he  can  speak  quite  as  strongly  in  his  own  rough 
way;  he  has  been  reading  all  sorts  of  books  of  late 
years,  and  gathered  together  no  little  information.  He 
is  as  good  a  man  as  the  common  run  of  us ;  and  there  are 
ten  million  more  men  in  the  country  as  good  as  he, — 
ten  million,  for  whom  we,  in  our  infinite  superiority,  are 
acting  as  guardians,  and  to  whom,  in  our  bounty,  we 
give— exactly  nothing.  Put  yourself  in  their  position, 
worthy  sir.  You  and  a  hundred  others  find  yourselves 
in  some  lone  place,  where  you  set  up  a  government. 
You  take  a  chief,  as  is  natural ;  he  is  the  cheapest  order- 
keeper  in  the  world.  You  establish  half-a-dozen  wor- 
thies, whose  families  you  say  shall  have  the  privilege  to 
legislate  for  you  for  ever;  half-a-dozen  more,  who  shall 
be  appointed  by  a  choice  of  thirty  of  the  rest:  and  the 
other  sixty,  who  shall  have  no  choice,  vote,  place,  or 
privilege,  at  all.  Honourable  sir,  suppose  that  you  are 
one  of  the  last  sixty:  how  will  you  feel,  you  who  have 
intelligence,  passions,  honest  pride,  as  well  as  your 
neighbour;  how  will  you  feel  towards  your  equals,  in 
whose  hands  lie  all  the  power  and  all  the  property  of 
the  community?  Would  you  love  and  honour  them, 
tamely  acquiesce  in  their  superiority,  see  their  privileges, 
and  go  yourself  disregarded  without  a  pang?    You  are 


GOING  TO  SEE    A  MAN  HANGED     211 

not  a  man  if  you  would.  I  am  not  talking  of  right  or 
wrong,  or  debating  questions  of  government.  But  ask 
my  friend  there,  with  the  ragged  elbows  and  no  shirt, 
what  he  thinks?  You  have  your  party,  Conservative  or 
Whig,  as  it  may  be.  You  believe  that  an  aristocracy  is 
an  institution  necessary,  beautiful,  and  virtuous.  You 
are  a  gentleman,  in  other  words,  and  stick  by  your  party. 

And  our  friend  with  the  elbows  (the  crowd  is  thick- 
ening hugely  all  this  time)  sticks  by  his.  Talk  to  him 
of  Whig  or  Tory,  he  grins  at  them :  of  virtual  represen- 
tation, pish!  He  is  a  democrat,  and  will  stand  by  his 
friends,  as  you  by  yours;  and  they  are  twenty  millions, 
his  friends,  of  whom  a  vast  minority  now,  a  majority 
a  few  years  hence,  will  be  as  good  as  you.  In  the  mean- 
time we  shall  continue  electing,  and  debating,  and  divid- 
ing, and  having  every  day  new  triumphs  for  the  glorious 
cause  of  Conservatism,  or  the  glorious  cause  of  Reform, 
until — 

***** 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  unconscionable  republi- 
can tirade — apropos  of  a  hanging?  Such  feelings,  I 
think,  must  come  across  any  man  in  a  vast  multitude 
like  this.  What  good  sense  and  intelligence  have  most 
of  the  people  by  whom  you  are  surrounded;  how  much 
sound  humour  does  one  hear  bandied  about  from  one 
to  another!  A  great  number  of  coarse  phrases  are  used, 
that  would  make  ladies  in  drawing-rooms  blush;  but 
the  morals  of  the  men  are  good  and  hearty.  A  raga- 
muffin in  the  crowd  (a  powdery  baker  in  a  white  sheep's- 
wool  cap)  uses  some  indecent  expression  to  a  woman 
near:  there  is  an  instant  cry  of  shame,  which  silences 
the  man,  and  a  dozen  people  are  ready  to  give  the  woman 
protection.     The  crowd  has  grown  very  dense  by  this 


242  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

time,  it  is  about  six  o'clock,  and  there  is  great  heaving, 
and  pushing,  and  swaying  to  and  fro;  but  round  the 
women  the  men  have  formed  a  circle,  and  keep  them  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  the  rush  and  trample.  In  one 
of  the  houses  near  us,  a  gallery  has  been  formed  on  the 
roof.  Seats  were  here  let,  and  a  number  of  persons  of 
various  degrees  were  occupying  them.  Several  tipsy, 
dissolute-looking  young  men,  of  the  Dick  Swiveller  cast, 
were  in  this  gallery.  One  was  lolling  over  the  sunshiny 
tiles,  with  a  fierce  sodden  face,  out  of  which  came  a  pipe, 
and  which  was  shaded  by  long  matted  hair,  and  a  hat 
cocked  very  much  on  one  side.  This  gentleman  was 
one  of  a  party  which  had  evidently  not  been  to  bed  on 
Sunday  night,  but  had  passed  it  in  some  of  those  delec- 
table night-houses  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Covent  Gar- 
den. The  debauch  was  not  over  yet,  and  the  women  of 
the  party  were  giggling,  drinking,  and  romping,  as  is 
the  wont  of  these  delicate  creatures ;  sprawling  here  and 
there,  and  falling  upon  the  knees  of  one  or  other  of  the 
males.  Their  scarfs  were  off  their  shoulders,  and  you 
saw  the  sun  shining  down  upon  the  bare  white  flesh, 
and  the  shoulder-points  glittering  like  burning-glasses. 
The  people  about  us  Avere  very  indignant  at  some  of  the 
proceedings  of  this  debauched  crew,  and  at  last  raised 
up  such  a  yell  as  frightened  them  into  shame,  and  they 
were  more  orderly  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  The 
windows  of  the  shops  opposite  began  to  fill  apace,  and 
our  before-mentioned  friend  with  ragged  elbows  pointed 
out  a  celebrated  fashionable  character  who  occupied  one 
of  them;  and,  to  our  surprise,  knew  as  much  about  him 
as  the  Court  Journal  or  the  Morning  Post.  Presently 
he  entertained  us  with  a  long  and  pretty  accurate  ac- 
count of  the  history  of  Lady ,  and  indulged  in  a 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     243 

judicious  criticism  upon  her  last  work.  I  have  met  with 
many  a  country  gentleman  who  had  not  read  half  as 
many  books  as  this  honest  fellow,  this  shrewd  proletaire 
in  a  black  shirt.  The  people  about  him  took  up  and 
carried  on  the  conversation  very  knowingly,  and  were 
very  little  behind  him  in  point  of  information.  It  was 
just  as  good  a  company  as  one  meets  on  common  occa- 
sions. I  was  in  a  genteel  crowd  in  one  of  the  galleries 
at  the  Queen's  coronation;  indeed,  in  point  of  intelli- 
gence, the  democrats  were  quite  equal  to  the  aristocrats. 
How  many  more  such  groups  were  there  in  this  immense 
multitude  of  nearly  forty  thousand,  as  some  say?  How 
many  more  such  throughout  the  country?  I  never  yet, 
as  I  said  before,  have  been  in  an  English  mob,  without 
the  same  feeling  for  the  persons  who  composed  it,  and 
without  wonder  at  the  vigorous,  orderly  good  sense  and 
intelligence  of  the  people. 

The  character  of  the  crowd  was  as  yet,  however,  quite 
festive.  Jokes  bandying  about  here  and  there,  and  jolly 
laughs  breaking  out.  Some  men  were  endeavouring  to 
climb  up  a  leaden  pipe  on  one  of  the  houses.  The  land- 
lord came  out,  and  endeavoured  with  might  and  main  to 
pull  them  down.  Many  thousand  eyes  turned  upon  this 
contest  immediately.  All  sorts  of  voices  issued  from  the 
crowd,  and  uttered  choice  expressions  of  slang.  When 
one  of  the  men  was  pulled  down  by  the  leg,  the  waves 
of  this  black  mob-ocean  laughed  innumerably;  when  one 
fellow  slipped  away,  scrambled  up  the  pipe,  and  made 
good  his  lodgment  on  the  shelf,  we  were  all  made  happj^ 
and  encouraged  him  by  loud  shouts  of  admiration. 
What  is  there  so  particularly  delightful  in  the  spectacle 
of  a  man  clambering  up  a  gas-pipe?  Why  were  we  kept 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  deep  interest  gazing  upon 


244  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

this  remarkable  scene?  Indeed  it  is  hard  to  say:  a  man 
does  not  know  what  a  fool  he  is  until  he  tries;  or,  at 
least,  what  mean  follies  will  amuse  him.  The  other  day 
I  went  to  Astley's,  and  saw  clown  come  in  with  a  fool's- 
cap  and  pinafore,  and  six  small  boys  who  represented 
his  schoolfellows.  To  them  enters  schoolmaster;  horses 
clown,  and  flogs  him  hugely  on  the  back  part  of  his  pina- 
fore. I  never  read  anything  in  Swift,  Boz,  Rabelais, 
Fielding,  Paul  de  Kock,  which  delighted  me  so  much 
^  as  this  sight,  and  caused  me  to  laugh  so  profoundly. 
And  why?  What  is  there  so  ridiculous  in  the  sight 
of  one  miserably  rouged  man  beating  another  on  the 
breech?  Tell  us  where  the  fun  lies  in  this  and  the  before- 
mentioned  episode  of  the  gas-pipe?  Vast,  indeed,  are 
the  capacities  and  ingenuities  of  the  human  soul  that 
can  find,  in  incidents  so  wonderfully  small,  means  of 
contemplation  and  amusement. 

Really  the  time  passed  away  with  extraordinary 
quickness.  A  thousand  things  of  the  sort  related  here 
came  to  amuse  us.  First  the  workmen  knocking  and 
hammering  at  the  scaffold,  mysterious  clattering  of 
blows  was  heard  within  it,  and  a  ladder  painted  black 
was  carried  round,  and  into  the  interior  of  the  edifice  by  a 
small  side-door.  We  all  looked  at  this  little  ladder  and 
at  each  other — things  began  to  be  very  interesting.  Soon 
came  a  squad  of  policemen ;  stalwart,  rosy-looking  men, 
saying  much  for  City  feeding;  well-dressed,  well-limbed, 
and  of  admirable  good-humour.  They  paced  about  the 
open  space  between  the  prison  and  the  barriers  which 
kept  in  the  crowd  from  the  scaffold.  The  front  line,  as 
far  as  I  could  see,  was  chiefly  occupied  by  blackguards 
and  boys  — professional  persons,  no  doubt,  who  saluted 
the  policemen  on  their  appearance  with  a  volley  of  jokes 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED    245 

and  ribaldry.  As  far  as  I  could  judge  from  faces,  there 
were  more  blackguards  of  sixteen  and  seventeen  than  of 
any  maturer  age ;  stunted,  sallow,  ill-grown  lads,  in  rug- 
ged fustian,  scowling  about.  There  were  a  considerable 
number  of  girls,  too,  of  the  same  age;  one  that  Cruik- 
shank  and  Boz  might  have  taken  as  a  study  for  Nancy. 
The  girl  was  a  young  thief's  mistress  evidently;  if  at- 
tacked, ready  to  reply  without  a  particle  of  modesty; 
could  give  as  good  ribaldry  as  she  got;  made  no  secret 
(and  there  were  several  inquiries)  as  to  her  profession 
and  means  of  livelihood.  But  with  all  this,  there  was 
something  good  about  the  girl;  a  sort  of  devil-may-care 
candour  and  simplicity  that  one  could  not  fail  to  see. 
Her  answers  to  some  of  the  coarse  questions  put  to  her, 
w^ere  very  ready  and  good-humoured.  She  had  a  friend 
with  her  of  the  same  age  and  class,  of  whom  she  seemed 
to  be  very  fond,  and  who  looked  up  to  her  for  protection. 
Both  of  these  women  had  beautiful  eyes.  Devil-may- 
care's  were  extraordinarily  bright  and  blue,  an  admir- 
ably fair  complexion,  and  a  large  red  mouth  full  of 
white  teeth.  Au  reste,  ugly,  stunted,  thick-limbed,  and 
by  no  means  a  beauty.  Her  friend  could  not  be  more 
than  fifteen.  They  were  not  in  rags,  but  had  greasy 
cotton  shawls,  and  old,  faded,  rag-shop  bonnets.  I  was 
curious  to  look  at  them,  having,  in  late  fashionable 
novels,  read  many  accounts  of  such  personages.  Bah! 
what  figments  these  novelists  tell  us!  Boz,  who  knows 
life  well,  knows  that  his  Miss  Nancj^  is  the  most  unreal 
fantastical  personage  possible;  no  more  like  a  thief's 
mistress  than  one  of  Gesner's  shepherdesses  resembles 
a  real  countrj^  wench.  He  dare  not  tell  the  truth  con- 
cerning such  young  ladies.  They  have,  no  doubt,  vir- 
tues like  other  human  creatures;  nay,  their  position  en- 


246  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

genders  virtues  that  are  not  called  into  exercise  among 
other  women.  But  on  these  an  honest  painter  of  human 
nature  has  no  right  to  dwell ;  not  being  able  to  paint  the 
whole  portrait,  he  has  no  right  to  present  one  or  two 
favourable  points  as  characterizing  the  whole ;  and  there- 
fore, in  fact,  had  better  leave  the  picture  alone  alto- 
gether. The  new  French  literature  is  essentially  false 
and  worthless  from  this  very  error — the  writers  giving 
us  favourable  pictures  of  monsters,  and  (to  say  nothing 
of  decency  or  morality)  pictures  quite  untrue  to  nature. 

But  yonder,  glittering  through  the  crowd  in  Newgate 
Street — see,  the  Sheriffs'  carriages  are  slowly  making 
their  way.  We  have  been  here  three  hours!  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  they  can  have  passed  so  soon  ?  Close  to  the  bar- 
riers where  we  are,  the  mob  has  become  so  dense  that 
it  is  with  difficulty  a  man  can  keep  his  feet.  Each  man, 
however,  is  very  careful  in  protecting  the  women,  and 
all  are  full  of  jokes  and  good-humour.  The  windows 
of  the  shops  opposite  are  now  pretty  nearly  filled  by  the 
persons  who  hired  them.  Many  young  dandies  are  there 
with  moustaches  and  cigars;  some  quiet,  fat,  family- 
parties,  of  simple,  honest  tradesmen  and  their  wives, 
as  we  fancy,  who  are  looking  on  with  the  greatest  im- 
aginable calmness,  and  sipping  their  tea.    Yonder  is  the 

sham   Lord   W ,   who   is   flinging   various   articles 

among  the  crowd;  one  of  his  companions,  a  tall,  burly 
man,  with  large  moustaches,  has  provided  himself  with 
a  squirt,  and  is  aspersing  the  mob  with  brandy-and- 
water.  Honest  gentleman!  high-bred  aristocrat!  genu- 
ine lover  of  humour  and  wit!  I  would  walk  some  miles 
to  see  thee  on  the  tread-mill,  thee  and  thy  INIohawk 
crew. 

We  tried  to  get  up  a  hiss  against  these  ruffians,  but 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAX  HAXGED     247 

only  had  a  trifling  success;  the  crowd  did  not  seem  to 
think  their  offence  very  heinous;  and  our  friend,  the 
philosopher  in  the  ragged  elbows,  who  had  remained 
near  us  all  the  time,  was  not  inspired  with  any  such 
savage  disgust  at  the  proceedings  of  certain  notorious 
young  gentlemen,  as  I  must  confess  fills  my  own  par- 
ticular bosom.  He  only  said,  "  So-and-so  is  a  lord,  and 
they'll  let  him  off,"  and  then  discoursed  about  Lord 
Ferrers  being  hanged.  The  philosopher  knew  the  his- 
tory pretty  well,  and  so  did  most  of  the  little  knot  of 
persons  about  him,  and  it  must  be  a  gratifying  thing  for 
young  gentlemen  to  find  that  their  actions  are  made  the 
subject  of  this  kind  of  conversation. 

Scared}"  a  word  had  been  said  about  Courvoisier  all 
this  time.  We  were  all,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  in  just 
such  a  frame  of  mind  as  men  are  in  when  they  are 
squeezing  at  the  pit-door  of  a  play,  or  pushing  for  a 
review  or  a  Lord  Maj^or's  show.  We  asked  most  of  the 
men  who  were  near  us,  whether  they  had  seen  many 
executions?  most  of  them  had,  the  philosopher  espe- 
cially; whether  the  sight  of  them  did  any  good?  "  For 
the  matter  of  that,  no;  people  did  not  care  about  them 
at  all;  nobody  ever  thought  of  it  after  a  bit."  A  coun- 
tryman, who  had  left  his  drove  in  Smithfield,  said  the 
same  thing;  he  had  seen  a  man  hanged  at  York,  and 
spoke  of  the  ceremony  with  perfect  good  sense,  and  in 
a  quiet,  sagacious  waJ^ 

J.  S ,  the  famous  wit,  now  dead,  had,  I  recollect, 

a  good  story  upon  the  subject  of  executing,  and  of  the 
terror  which  the  punishment  inspires.  After  Thistle- 
M'ood  and  his  companions  were  hanged,  their  heads  were 
taken  off,  according  to  the  sentence,  and  the  executioner, 
as  he  severed  each,  held  it  up  to  the  crowd,  in  the  proper 


248  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

orthodox  way,  sajang,  "  Here  is  the  head  of  a  traitor!  " 
At  the  sight  of  the  first  ghastly  head  the  people  were 
struck  with  terror,  and  a  general  expression  of  dis- 
gust and  fear  broke  from  them.  The  second  head  was 
looked  at  also  with  much  interest,  but  the  excitement 
regarding  the  third  head  diminished.  When  the  exe- 
cutioner had  come  to  the  last  of  the  heads,  he  lifted  it 
up,  but,  by  some  clumsiness,  allowed  it  to  drop.  At  this 
the  crowd  yelled  out,  ''Ah,  Butter-fingers!''— the  ex- 
citement had  passed  entirely  away.  The  punishment 
had  grown  to  be  a  joke— Butter-fingers  was  the  word 
— a  pretty  commentary,  indeed,  upon  the  august  nature 
of  public  executions,  and  the  awful  majesty  of  the 
law. 

It  was  past  seven  now;  the  quarters  rang  and  passed 
awaj^;  the  crowd  began  to  grow  very  eager  and  more 
quiet,  and  we  turned  back  every  now  and  then  and 
looked  at  St.  Sepulchre's  clock.  Half  an  hour,  twenty- 
five  minutes.  What  is  he  doing  now?  He  has  his  irons 
off  by  this  time.  A  quarter :  he's  in  the  press-room  now, 
no  doubt.  Now  at  last  mc  had  come  to  think  about  the 
man  we  were  going  to  see  hanged.  How  slowly  the 
clock  crept  over  the  last  quarter!  Those  who  were  able 
to  turn  round  and  see  (for  the  crowd  was  now  extraor- 
dinarily dense)  chronicled  the  time,  eight  minutes,  five 
minutes;  at  last— ding,  dong,  dong,  dong!— the  bell  is 
tolling  the  chimes  of  eight. 

^  ¥^  ^  M^  ^ 

Between  the  writing  of  this  line  and  the  last,  the  pen 
has  been  put  down,  as  the  reader  may  suppose,  and  the 
person  who  is  addressing  him  has  gone  through  a  pause 
of  no  very  pleasant  thoughts  and  recollections.  The 
whole  of  the  sickening,  ghastly,  wicked  scene  passes  be- 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     249 

fore  the  eyes  again ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  an  awful  one  to  see, 
and  very  hard  and  painful  to  describe. 

As  the  clock  began  to  strike,  an  immense  sway  and 
movement  swept  over  the  whole  of  that  vast  dense 
crowd.  They  were  all  uncovered  directly,  and  a  great 
murmur  arose,  more  awful,  bizarre,  and  indescribable 
than  any  sound  I  had  ever  before  heard.  Women  and 
children  began  to  shriek  horridly.  I  don't  know  whe- 
ther it  was  the  bell  I  heard ;  but  a  dreadful  quick,  fever- 
ish kind  of  jangling  noise  mingled  wdth  the  noise  of  the 
people,  and  lasted  for  about  two  minutes.  The  scaffold 
stood  before  us,  tenantless  and  black;  the  black  chain 
was  hanging  down  ready  from  the  beam.  Nobody 
came.  "  He  has  been  respited,"  some  one  said;  another 
said,  "  He  has  killed  himself  in  prison." 

Just  then,  from  under  the  black  prison-door,  a  pale, 
quiet  head  peered  out.  It  was  shockingly  bright  and 
distinct;  it  rose  up  directly,  and  a  man  in  black  ap- 
peared on  the  scaffold,  and  was  silently  followed  by 
about  four  more  dark  figures.  The  first  was  a  tall  grave 
man :  we  all  knew  who  the  second  man  was.  "  Thai's 
he—thafs  he! "  you  heard  the  people  say,  as  the  devoted 
man  came  up. 

I  have  seen  a  cast  of  the  head  since,  but,  indeed, 
should  never  have  known  it.  Courvoisier  bore  his 
punishment  like  a  man,  and  walked  very  firmly.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  new  black  suit,  as  it  seemed:  his  shirt 
was  open.  His  arms  were  tied  in  front  of  him.  He 
opened  his  hands  in  a  helpless  kind  of  way,  and  clasped 
them  once  or  twice  together.  He  turned  his  head  here 
and  there,  and  looked  about  him  for  an  instant  with  a 
wild,  imploring  look.  His  mouth  was  contracted  into  a 
sort  of  pitiful  smile.     He  went  and  placed  himself  at 


250  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

once  under  the  beam,  with  his  face  towards  St.  Sepul- 
chre's. The  tall,  grave  man  in  black  twisted  him  round 
swiftly  in  the  other  direction,  and,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  night-cap,  pulled  it  tight  over  the  j^atient's 
head  and  face.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  could 
look  no  more,  but  shut  my  eyes  as  the  last  dreadful  act 
was  going  on,  which  sent  this  wretched,  guilty  soul  into 
the  presence  of  God. 

If  a  public  execution  is  beneficial— and  beneficial  it 
is,  no  doubt,  or  else  the  wise  laws  would  not  encourage 
forty  thousand  people  to  witness  it — the  next  useful 
thing  must  be  a  full  description  of  such  a  ceremony,  and 
all  its  entourages,  and  to  this  end  the  above  pages  are 
offered  to  the  reader.  How  does  an  individual  man  feel 
under  it?  In  what  way  does  he  observe  it,— how  does 
he  view  all  the  phenomena  connected  with  it, — what  in- 
duces him,  in  the  first  instance,  to  go  and  see  it, — and 
how  is  he  moved  by  it  afterwards?  The  writer  has  dis- 
carded the  magazine  "  We "  altogether,  and  spoken 
face  to  face  with  the  reader,  recording  every  one  of  the 
impressions  felt  by  him  as  honestly  as  he  could. 

I  must  confess,  then  (for  "  I  "  is  the  shortest  word, 
and  the  best  in  this  case),  that  the  sight  has  left  on  my 
mind  an  extraordinary  feeling  of  terror  and  shame.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  been  abetting  an  act  of  frightful 
wickedness  and  violence,  performed  by  a  set  of  men 
against  one  of  their  fellows ;  and  I  pray  God  that  it  may 
soon  be  out  of  the  power  of  any  man  in  England  to  wit- 
ness such  a  hideous  and  degrading  sight.  Forty  thou- 
sand persons  (say  the  Sheriffs),  of  all  ranks  and  de- 
grees,— mechanics,  gentlemen,  pickpockets,  members  of 
both  Houses  of  Parliament,  street-walkers,  newspaper- 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     251 

writers,  gather  together  before  Newgate  at  a  A^ery  early 
hour;  the  most  part  of  them  give  up  their  natural  quiet 
night's  rest,  in  order  to  partake  of  this  hideous  debauch- 
ery, which  is  more  exciting  than  sleep,  or  than  wine,  or 
the  last  new  ballet,  or  any  other  amusement  they  can 
have.  Pickpocket  and  Peer  each  is  tickled  by  the  sight 
alike,  and  has  that  hidden  lust  after  blood  which  influ- 
ences our  race.  Government,  a  Christian  government, 
gives  us  a  feast  every  now  and  then:  it  agrees — that  is 
to  say — a  majority  in  the  two  Houses  agrees,  that  for 
certain  crimes  it  is  necessary  that  a  man  should  be 
hanged  by  the  neck.  Government  commits  the  crim- 
inal's soul  to  the  mercy  of  God,  stating  that  here  on 
earth  he  is  to  look  for  no  mercy;  keeps  him  for  a  fort- 
night to  prepare,  provides  him  witli  a  clergyman  to 
settle  his  religious  matters  (if  there  be  time  enough,  but 
Government  can't  wait) ;  and  on  a  Monday  morning, 
the  bell  tolling,  the  clergyman  reading  out  the  word 
of  God,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  "  The 
Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away," — on  a  Monday 
morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  this  man  is  placed  under  a 
beam,  with  a  rope  connecting  it  and  him;  a  plank  dis- 
appears from  under  him,  and  those  who  have  paid  for 
good  places  may  see  the  hands  of  the  Government  agent, 
Jack  Ketch,  coming  up  from  his  black  hole,  and  seizing 
the  prisoner's  legs,  and  pulling  them,  until  he  is  quite 
dead — strangled. 

Many  persons,  and  well-informed  new^spapers,  say 
that  it  is  mawkish  sentiment  to  talk  in  this  way,  morbid 
humanity,  cheap  philanthropy,  that  an^^  man  can  get  up 
and  preach  about.  There  is  the  Observer,  for  instance, 
a  paper  conspicuous  for  the  tremendous  sarcasm  which 
distinguishes  its  articles,  and  which  falls  cruell}^  foul 


252  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

of  the  Morning  Herald.  "  Courvoisier  is  dead,"  says  the 
Observer;  "  he  died  as  he  had  hved— a  villain;  a  lie  was 
in  his  mouth.  Peace  be  to  his  ashes.  We  war  not  with 
the  dead."  What  a  magnanimous  Observer!  From 
this,  Observer  turns  to  the  Herald,  and  says,  ''  Fiat  jus- 
titia  mat  caelum J"    So  much  for  the  Herald. 

We  quote  from  memory,  and  the  quotation  from  the 
Observer  possibly  h,—I)e  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum;  or, 
Omne  ignotum  pro  magnifico;  or,  Sero  nunquam  est  ad 
bonos  mores  via;  or,  Ingenuas  didicisse  fideliter  artes 
emollit  mores  nee  sinit  esse  feros:  all  of  which  pithy 
Roman  apophthegms  would  apply  just  as  well. 

"  Peace  be  to  his  ashes.  He  died  a  villain."  This  is 
both  benevolence  and  reason.  Did  he  die  a  villain?  The 
Observer  does  not  want  to  destroy  him  body  and  soul, 
evidently,  from  that  pious  wish  that  his  ashes  should 
be  at  peace.  Is  the  next  Monday  but  one  after  the 
sentence  the  time  necessary  for  a  villain  to  repent  in? 
May  a  man  not  require  more  leisure — a  week  more — six 
months  more— before  he  has  been  able  to  make  his  re- 
pentance sure  before  Him  who  died  for  us  all?— for  all, 
be  it  remembered,— not  alone  for  the  judge  and  jury, 
or  for  the  sheriffs,  or  for  the  executioner  who  is  pulling 
down  the  legs  of  the  prisoner,— but  for  him  too,  mur- 
derer and  criminal  as  he  is,  whom  we  are  killing  for  his 
crime.  Do  we  want  to  kiU  him  body  and  soul?  Heaven 
forbid!  My  lord  in  the  black  cap  specially  prays  that 
heaven  may  have  mercy  on  him;  but  he  must  be  ready 
by  Monday  morning. 

Look  at  the  documents  which  came  from  the  prison  of 
this  unhappy  Courvoisier  during  the  few  days  which 
passed  between  his  trial  and  execution.  Were  ever  let- 
ters more  painful  to  read?    At  first,  his  statements  are 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAX  HANGED     253 

false,  contradictory,  lying.  He  has  not  repented  then. 
His  last  declaration  seems  to  be  honest,  as  far  as  the 
relation  of  the  crime  goes.  But  read  the  rest  of  his 
statement,  the  account  of  his  personal  history,  and  the 
crimes  which  he  committed  in  his  young  days, — then 
"  how  the  evil  thought  came  to  him  to  put  his  hand  to 
the  work," — it  is  evidently  the  writing  of  a  mad,  dis- 
tracted man.  The  horrid  gallows  is  perpetually  before 
him ;  he  is  wild  with  dread  and  remorse.  Clergymen  are 
with  him  ceaselessly;  religious  tracts  are  forced  into  his 
hands ;  night  and  day  they  ply  him  with  the  heinousness 
of  his  crime,  and  exhortations  to  repentance.  Read 
through  that  last  paper  of  his ;  by  heaven,  it  is  pitiful  to 
read  it.  See  the  Scripture  phrases  brought  in  now  and 
anon ;  the  peculiar  terms  of  tract-phraseology  ( I  do  not 
wish  to  speak  of  these  often  meritorious  publications 
with  disrespect)  ;  one  knows  too  well  how  such  language 
is  learned, — imitated  from  the  priest  at  the  bed-side, 
eagerly  seized  and  appropriated,  and  confounded  by  the 
poor  prisoner. 

But  murder  is  such  a  monstrous  crime  (this  is  the 
great  argument), — when  a  man  has  killed  another  it 
is  natural  that  he  should  be  killed.  Away  with  your 
foolish  sentimentalists  who  say  no — it  is  natural. 
That  is  the  word,  and  a  fine  philosophical  opinion  it 
is— philosophical  and  Christian.  Kill  a  man,  and 
you  must  be  killed  in  turn;  that  is  the  unavoidable 
sequitur.  You  may  talk  to  a  man  for  a  year  upon  the 
subject,  and  he  will  always  reply  to  you,  "  It  is  nat- 
ural, and  therefore  it  must  be  done.  Blood  demands 
blood." 

Does  it?  The  sj^stem  of  compensations  might  be  car- 
ried on  ad  infinitum,— an  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a 


254  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

tooth,  as  by  the  old  Mosaic  law.  But  (putting  the  fact 
out  of  the  question,  that  we  have  had  this  statute  re- 
pealed by  the  Highest  Authority),  why,  because  you 
lose  j^our  eye,  is  that  of  your  opponent  to  be  extracted 
likewise?  Where  is  the  reason  for  the  practice?  And 
yet  it  is  just  as  natural  as  the  death  dictum,  founded 
precisely  upon  the  same  show  of  sense.  Knowing,  how- 
ever, that  revenge  is  not  only  evil,  but  useless,  we  have 
given  it  up  on  all  minor  points.  Only  to  the  last  we  stick 
firm,  contrary  though  it  be  to  reason  and  to  Christian 
law. 

There  is  some  talk,  too,  of  the  terror  which  the  sight 
of  this  spectacle  inspires,  and  of  this  we  have  endea- 
voured to  give  as  good  a  notion  as  we  can  in  the  above 
pages.  I  fully  confess  that  I  came  away  down  Snow 
Hill  that  morning  with  a  disgust  for  murder,  but  it  was 
for  the  murder  I  saw  done.  As  we  made  our  way 
through  the  immense  crowd,  we  came  upon  two  little 
girls  of  eleven  and  twelve  years :  one  of  them  was  crying 
bitterly,  and  begged,  for  heaven's  sake,  that  some  one 
would  lead  her  from  that  horrid  place.  This  was  done, 
and  the  children  were  carried  into  a  place  of  safety.  We 
asked  the  elder  girl — and  a  very  pretty  one — what 
brought  her  into  such  a  neighbourhood?  The  child 
grinned  knowingly,  and  said,  "  We've  koom  to  see  the 
mon  hanged!  "  Tender  law,  that  brings  out  babes  upon 
such  errands,  and  provides  them  with  such  gratifying 
moral  spectacles ! 

This  is  the  20th  of  July,  and  I  may  be  permitted  for 
my  part  to  declare  that,  for  the  last  fourteen  days,  so 
salutary  has  the  impression  of  the  butchery  been  upon 
me,  I  have  had  the  man's  face  continually  before  my 
eyes;  that  I  can  see  Mr.  Ketch  at  this  moment,  with  an 


GOING  TO  SEE  A  MAN  HANGED     255 

easy  air,  taking  the  rope  from  his  pocket;  that  I  feel 
myself  ashamed  and  degraded  at  the  brutal  curiosity 
which  took  me  to  that  brutal  sight;  and  that  I  pray  to 
Almighty  God  to  cause  this  disgraceful  sin  to  pass  from 
among  us,  and  to  cleanse  our  land  of  blood. 


NOTES   OF  A  JOURNEY 


FROM 


CORNHILL  TO  GRAND  CAIRO 


BY  WAY  OF 


LISBON,  ATHENS,  CONSTANTINOPLE,  AND  JERUSALEM 

PERFORMED  IN  THE  STEAMERS  OF  THE  PENINSULAR 
AND  ORIENTAL  COMPANY 


TO 

CAPTAIN    SAMUEL    LEWIS 

OF    THE 

PENINSULAR  AND  ORIENTAL  STEAM   NAVIGATION 
COMPANY'S  SERVICE 

My  dear  Lewis, 

After  a  voyage,  during  which  the  captain  of  the  ship  has 
displayed  uncommon  courage,  seamanship,  affability,  or  other 
good  qualities,  grateful  passengers  often  present  him  with  a 
token  of  their  esteem,  in  the  shape  of  teapots,  tankards,  trays,  &c. 
of  precious  metal.  Among  authors,  however,  bullion  is  a  much 
rarer  commodity  than  paper,  whereof  I  beg  you  to  accept  a  little 
in  the  shape  of  this  small  volume.  It  contains  a  few  notes  of  a 
voyage  which  your  skill  and  kindness  rendered  doubly  pleasant; 
and  of  which  I  don't  think  there  is  any  recollection  more  agree- 
able than  that  it  was  the  occasion  of  making  your  friendship. 

If  the  noble  company  in  whose  service  you  command  (and 
whose  fleet  alone  makes  them  a  third-rate  maritime  power  in 
Europe)  should  appoint  a  few  admirals  in  their  navy,  I  hope 
to  hear  that  your  flag  is  hoisted  on  board  one  of  the  grandest  of 
their  steamers.  But,  I  trust,  even  there  you  will  not  forget  the 
"  Iberia,"  and  the  delightful  Mediterranean  cruise  we  had  in 
her  in  the  Autumn  of  1844. 

Most  faithfully  yours. 

My  dear  Lewis, 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 

London,  December  24,  1845. 


PREFACE 

On  the  20th  of  August,  1844,  the  writer  of  this  little 

book  went  to  dine  at  the  " Club,"  quite  unconscious 

of  the  wonderful  events  which  Fate  had  in  store  for  him. 

Mr.  William  was  there,  giving  a  farewell  dinner  to  his 
friend,  Mr.  James  (now  Sir  James).  These  two  asked 
Mr.  Titmarsh  to  join  company  with  them,  and  the  con- 
versation naturally  fell  upon  the  tour  Mr.  James  was 
about  to  take.  The  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company 
had  arranged  an  excursion  in  the  Mediterranean,  by 
which,  in  the  space  of  a  couple  of  months,  as  many  men 
and  cities  were  to  be  seen  as  Ulysses  surveyed  and  noted 
in  ten  years.  Malta,  Athens,  Smyrna,  Constantinople, 
Jerusalem,  Cairo  were  to  be  visited,  and  everybody  was 
to  be  back  in  London  by  Lord  Mayor's  Day. 

The  idea  of  beholding  these  famous  places  inflamed 
Mr.  Titmarsh's  mind;  and  the  charms  of  such  a  journey 
were  eloquently  impressed  upon  him  by  Mr.  James. 
"  Come,"  said  that  kind  and  hospitable  gentleman,  "  and 
make  one  of  my  familj^  party;  in  all  your  life  you  will 
never  probably  have  a  chance  again  to  see  so  much  in  so 
short  a  time.  Consider— it  is  as  easy  as  a  journey  to 
Paris  or  to  Baden."  Mr.  Titmarsh  considered  all  these 
things;  but  also  the  difficulties  of  the  situation:  he  had 

861 


262  PREFACE 

but  six-and-thirty  hours  to  get  ready  for  so  portentous  a 
journey — he  had  engagements  at  home — finally,  could 
he  afford  it?  In  spite  of  these  objections,  however,  with 
every  glass  of  claret  the  enthusiasm  somehow  rose,  and 
the  difficulties  vanished. 

But  when  Mr.  James,  to  crown  all,  said  he  had  no 
doubt  that  his  friends,  the  Directors  of  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  Company,  would  make  Mr.  Titmarsh  the 
present  of  a  berth  for  the  voyage,  all  objections  ceased 
on  his  part:  to  break  his  outstanding  engagements— to 
write  letters  to  his  amazed  family,  stating  that  they  were 
not  to  expect  him  at  dinner  on  Saturday  fortnight,  as  he 
would  be  at  Jerusalem  on  that  day — to  purchase  eigh- 
teen shirts  and  lay  in  a  sea  stock  of  Russia  ducks, — was 
the  work  of  f our-and-twenty  hours ;  and  on  the  22nd  of 
August,  the  "  Lady  Mary  Wood  "  was  sailing  from 
Southampton  with  the  "  subject  of  the  present  memoir," 
quite  astonished  to  find  himself  one  of  the  passengers  on 
board. 

These  important  statements  are  made  partly  to  con- 
vince some  incredulous  friends — who  insist  still  that  the 
writer  never  went  abroad  at  all,  and  wrote  the  following 
pages,  out  of  pure  fancy,  in  retirement  at  Putney;  but 
mainly,  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  thanking  the  Di- 
rectors of  the  Company  in  question  for  a  delightful  ex- 
cursion. 

It  was  one  so  easy,  so  charming,  and  I  think  profitable 
—it  leaves  such  a  store  of  pleasant  recollections  for  after 
days— and  creates  so  many  new  sources  of  interest  (a 


PREFACE  263 

newspaper  letter  from  Beyrout,  or  INIalta,  or  Algiers, 
has  twice  the  interest  now  that  it  had  formerly), — that 
I  can't  but  recommend  all  persons  who  have  time  and 
means  to  make  a  similar  journey — vacation  idlers  to  ex- 
tend their  travels  and  pursue  it:  above  all,  young  well- 
educated  men  entering  life,  to  take  this  course,  we  will 
say,  after  that  at  college;  and,  having  their  book- 
learning  fresh  in  their  minds,  see  the  living  people  and 
their  cities,  and  the  actual  aspect  of  Nature,  along  the 
famous  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 


A  JOURNEY 

FROM 

CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

CHAPTER  I 

VIGO 

THE  sun  brought  all  the  sick  people  out  of  their 
berths  this  morning,  and  the  indescribable  moans 
and  noises  which  had  been  issuing  from  behind  the  fine 
painted  doors  on  each  side  of  the  cabin  happily  ceased. 
Long  before  sunrise,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  discover 
that  it  was  no  longer  necessarj^  to  maintain  the  horizontal 
posture,  and,  the  very  instant  this  tiiith  was  apparent, 
came  on  deck  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  see  a  noble 
full  moon  sinking  westward,  and  millions  of  the  most 
brilliant  stars  shining  overhead.  The  night  was  so  se- 
renely pure,  that  you  saw  them  in  magnificent  airy  per- 
spective; the  blue  sky  around  and  over  them,  and  other 
more  distant  orbs  sparkling  above,  till  they  glittered 
away  faintly  into  immeasurable  distance.  The  ship 
went  rolling  over  a  heavy,  sweltering,  calm  sea.  The 
breeze  was  a  warm  and  soft  one;  quite  diiferent  to  the 
rigid  air  we  had  left  behind  us,  two  days  since,  off  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  The  bell  kept  tolling  its  half  hours,  and 
the  mate  explained  the  mystery  of  watch  and  dog-watch. 
The  sight  of  that  noble  scene  cured  all  the  woes  and 

265 


266  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

discomfitures  of  sea-sickness  at  once,  and  if  there  were 
any  need  to  communicate  such  secrets  to  the  public,  one 
might  tell  of  much  more  good  that  the  pleasant  morning- 
watch  effected;  but  there  are  a  set  of  emotions  about 
which  a  man  had  best  be  shy  of  talking  lightly, — and  the 
feelings  excited  by  contemplating  this  vast,  magnificent, 
harmonious  Nature  are  among  these.  The  view  of  it 
inspires  a  delight  and  ecstasy  which  is  not  only  hard  to 
describe  but  which  has  something  secret  in  it  that  a  man 
should  not  utter  loudly.  Hope,  memory,  humility,  ten- 
der yearnings  towards  dear  friends,  and  inexpressible 
love  and  reverence  towards  the  Power  which  created  the 
infinite  universe  blazing  above  eternally,  and  the  vast 
ocean  shining  and  rolling  around— fill  the  heart  with  a 
solemn,  humble  happiness,  that  a  person  dwelling  in  a 
city  has  rarely  occasion  to  enjoy.  They  are  coming  away 
from  London  parties  at  this  time :  the  dear  little  eyes  are 
closed  in  sleep  under  mother's  wing.  How  far  off  city 
cares  and  pleasures  appear  to  be!  how  small  and  mean 
they  seem,  dwindling  out  of  sight  before  this  magnifi- 
cent brightness  of  Nature !  But  the  best  thoughts  only 
grow  and  strengthen  under  it.  Heaven  shines  above, 
and  the  humbled  spirit  looks  up  reverently  towards  that 
boundless  aspect  of  wisdom  and  beauty.  You  are  at 
home,  and  with  all  at  rest  there,  however  far  away  they 
may  be ;  and  through  the  distance  the  heart  broods  over 
them,  bright  and  wakeful  like  yonder  peaceful  stars 
overhead. 

The  day  was  as  fine  and  calm  as  the  night;  at  seven 
bells,  suddenly  a  bell  began  to  toll  very  much  like  that 
of  a  country  church,  and  on  going  on  deck  we  found  an 
awning  raised,  a  desk  with  a  flag  flung  over  it  close  to 


VIGO  267 

the  compass,  and  the  ship's  company  and  passengers  as- 
sembled there  to  hear  the  captain  read  the  Service  in  a 
manly  respectful  voice.  This,  too,  was  a  novel  and 
touching  sight  to  me.  Peaked  ridges  of  purple  moun- 
tains rose  to  the  left  of  the  ship, — Finisterre  and  the 
coast  of  Gallicia.  The  sky  above  was  cloudless  and  shin- 
ing ;  the  vast  dark  ocean  smiled  peacefully  round  about, 
and  the  ship  went  rolling  over  it,  as  the  people  within 
were  praising  the  INIaker  of  all. 

In  honour  of  the  day,  it  was  announced  that  the  pas- 
sengers would  be  regaled  with  champagne  at  dinner; 
and  accordingly  that  exhilarating  liquor  was  served  out 
in  decent  profusion,  the  company  drinking  the  captain's 
health  with  the  customary  orations  of  compliment  and 
acknowledgment.  This  feast  was  scarcely  ended,  when 
we  found  ourselves  rounding  the  headland  into  Vigo 
Bay,  passing  a  grim  and  tall  island  of  rocky  mountains 
which  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  bay. 

Whether  it  is  that  the  sight  of  land  is  always  welcome 
to  weary  mariners,  after  the  perils  and  annoyances  of  a 
voyage  of  three  days,  or  whether  the  place  is  in  itself  ex- 
traordinarily beautiful,  need  not  be  argued ;  but  I  have 
seldom  seen  anything  more  charming  than  the  amphi- 
theatre of  noble  hills  into  which  the  ship  now  came — all 
the  features  of  the  landscape  being  lighted  up  with  a 
wonderful  clearness  of  air,  which  rarely  adorns  a  view  in 
our  country.  The  sun  had  not  yet  set,  but  over  the  town 
and  lofty  rocky  castle  of  Vigo  a  great  ghost  of  a  moon 
was  faintly  visible,  which  blazed  out  brighter  and 
brighter  as  the  superior  luminary  retired  behind  the  pur- 
ple mountains  of  the  headland  to  rest.  Before  the  gen- 
eral background  of  waving  heights  which  encompassed 


268  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  bay,  rose  a  second  semicircle  of  undulating  hills,  as 
cheerful  and  green  as  the  mountains  behind  them  were 
grey  and  solemn.  Farms  and  gardens,  convent  towers, 
white  villages  and  churches,  and  buildings  that  no  doubt 
were  hermitages  once,  upon  the  sharp  peaks  of  the  hills, 
shone  brightly  in  the  sun.  The  sight  was  delightfully 
cheerful,  animated,  and  pleasing. 

Presently  the  captain  roared  out  the  magic  words, 
"  Stop  her!"  and  the  obedient  vessel  came  to  a  stand- 
still, at  some  three  hundred  yards  from  the  little  town, 
with  its  white  houses  clambering  up  a  rock,  defended  by 
the  superior  mountain  whereon  the  castle  stands.  Num- 
bers of  people,  arrayed  in  various  brilliant  colours  of  red, 
were  standing  on  the  sand  close  by  the  tumbling,  shining, 
purple  waves :  and  there  we  beheld,  for  the  first  time,  the 
royal  red  and  yellow  standard  of  Spain  floating  on  its 
own  ground,  under  the  guardianship  of  a  light  blue  sen- 
tinel, whose  musket  glittered  in  the  sun.  Numerous 
boats  were  seen,  incontinently,  to  put  off  from  the  little 
shore. 

And  now  our  attention  was  withdrawn  from  the  land 
to  a  sight  of  great  splendour  on  board.  This  was  Lieu- 
tenant Bundy,  the  guardian  of  her  Majesty's  mails,  who 
issued  from  his  cabin  in  his  long  swallow-tailed  coat 
with  anchor  buttons;  his  sabre  clattering  between  his 
legs;  a  magnificent  shirt-collar,  of  several  inches  in 
height,  rising  round  his  good-humoured  sallow  face ;  and 
above  it  a  cocked  hat,  that  shone  so,  I  thought  it  was 
made  of  polished  tin  (it  may  have  been  that  or  oilskin), 
handsomely  laced  with  black  worsted,  and  ornamented 
with  a  shining  gold  cord.  A  little  squat  boat,  rowed  by 
three  ragged  gallegos,  came  bouncing  up  to  the  ship. 
Into  this  Mr.  Bundy  and  her  Majesty's  royal  mail  em- 


SPANISH   TROOPS 


269 


barked  with  much  majesty;  and  in  the  twinkhng  of  an 
eye,  the  royal  standard  of  England,  about  the  size  of  a 
pocket-handkerchief, — and  at  the  bows  of  the  boat,  the 
man-of-war's  pennant,  being  a  strip  of  bunting  consid- 
erably under  the  value  of  a  farthing,— streamed  out. 


*'  They  know  that  flag,  sir,"  said  the  good-natured  old 
tar,  quite  solemnly,  in  the  evening  afterwards:  "they 
respect  it,  sir."  The  authority  of  her  Majesty's  lieu- 
tenant on  board  the  steamer  is  stated  to  be  so  tremen- 
dous, that  he  may  order  it  to  stop,  to  move,  to  go  lar- 
board, starboard,  or  what  you  w^ill ;  and  the  captain  dare 
only  disobey  him  suo  pericido. 

It  was  agreed  that  a  party  of  us  should  land  for  half- 
an-hour,  and  taste  real  Spanish  chocolate  on  Spanish 
ground.  We  followed  Lieutenant  Bundy,  but  humbly 
in  the  providor's  boat ;  that  officer  going  on  shore  to  pur- 
chase fresh  eggs,  milk  for  tea  (in  place  of  the  slimy  sub- 
stitute of  whipped  yolk  of  egg  which  we  had  been  using 
for  our  morning  and  evening  meals),  and,  if  possible, 
oysters,  for  Avhich  it  is  said  the  rocks  of  Vigo  are  famous. 

It  was  low  tide,  and  the  boat  could  not  get  up  to  the 
dry  shore.  Hence  it  was  necessary  to  take  advantage  of 
the  offers  of  sundry  gallegos,  who  rushed  barelegged 


270  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

into  the  water,  to  land  on  their  shoulders.  The  approved 
method  seems  to  be,  to  sit  upon  one  shoulder  only,  hold- 
ing on  by  the  porter's  whiskers ;  and  though  some  of  our 
party  were  of  the  tallest  and  fattest  men  whereof  our 
race  is  composed,  and  their  living  sedans  exceedingly 
meagre  and  small,  yet  all  M^ere  landed  without  accident 
upon  the  juicy  sand,  and  forthwith  surrounded  by  a  host 
of  mendicants,  screaming,  "  I  say,  sir!  penny,  sir!  I 
say,  English!  tam  your  ays!  penny!  "  in  all  voices  from 
extreme  youth  to  the  most  lousy  and  venerable  old  age. 
When  it  is  said  that  these  beggars  were  as  ragged  as 
those  of  Ireland,  and  still  more  voluble,  the  Irish  trav- 
eller will  be  able  to  form  an  opinion  of  their  capabilities. 
Through  this  crowd  we  passed  up  some  steep  rocky 
steps,  through  a  little  low  gate,  where,  in  a  little  guard- 
house and  barrack,  a  few  dirty  little  sentinels  were  keep- 
ing a  dirty  little  guard ;  and  by  low-roofed,  whitewashed 
houses,  with  balconies,  and  women  in  them,— the  very 
same  women  with  the  very  same  head-clothes  and  yellow 
fans  and  eyes,  at  once  sly  and  solemn,  which  Murillo 
painted,— by  a  neat  church  into  which  we  took  a  peep, 
and,  finally,  into  the  Plaza  del  Constitucion,  or  grand 
'place  of  the  town,  which  may  be  about  as  big  as  that 
pleasing  square.  Pump  Court,  Temple.  We  were  taken 
to  an  inn,  of  which  I  forget  the  name,  and  were  shown 
from  one  chamber  and  storey  to  another,  till  we  arrived 
at  that  apartment  where  the  real  Spanish  chocolate  was 
finally  to  be  seized  out.  All  these  rooms  were  as  clean 
as  scrubbing  and  whitewash  could  make  them ;  with  sim- 
ple French  prints  (with  Spanish  titles)  on  the  walls;  a 
few  rickety  half -finished  articles  of  furniture;  and, 
finally,  an  air  of  extremely  respectable  poverty.  A 
jolly,  black-eyed,  yellow-shawled  Dulcinea  conducted 


SPANISH  TROOPS  271 

us  through  the  apartment  and  provided  us  with  the  de- 
sired refreshment. 

Sounds  of  clarions  drew  our  eyes  to  the  Place  of  the 
Constitution;  and,  indeed,  I  had  forgotten  to  say,  that 
that  majestic  square  was  filled  with  military,  with  ex- 
ceedingly small  firelocks,  the  men  ludicrously  young  and 
diminutive  for  the  most  part,  in  a  uniform  at  once  cheap 
and  tawdry, — like  those  supplied  to  the  warriors  at  Ast- 
ley's,  or  from  still  humbler  theatrical  wardrobes :  indeed, 
the  whole  scene  was  just  like  that  of  a  little  theatre;  the 
houses  curiously  small,  with  arcades  and  balconies,  out 
of  which  looked  women  apparently  a  great  deal  too  big 
for  the  chambers  they  inhabited;  the  warriors  were  in 
ginghams,  cottons,  and  tinsel ;  the  officers  had  huge  epau- 
lets of  sham  silver  lace  drooping  over  their  bosoms,  and 
looked  as  if  they  were  attired  at  a  very  small  expense. 
Only  the  general — the  captain-general  (Pooch,  they 
told  us,  was  his  name:  I  know  not  how  'tis  written  in 
Spanish)  — was  well  got  up,  with  a  smart  hat,  a  real 
feather,  huge  stars  glittering  on  his  portly  chest,  and 
tights  and  boots  of  the  first  order.  Presently,  after  a 
good  deal  of  trumpeting,  the  little  men  marched  off  the 
place.  Pooch  and  his  staff  coming  into  the  very  inn  in 
which  we  were  awaiting  our  chocolate. 

Then  we  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  some  of  the 
civilians  of  the  town.  Three  or  four  ladies  passed,  with 
fan  and  mantle;  to  them  came  three  or  four  dandies, 
dressed  smartly  in  the  French  fashion,  with  strong  Jew- 
ish physiognomies.  There  was  one,  a  solemn  lean  fellow 
in  black,  with  his  collars  extremely  turned  over,  and 
holding  before  him  a  long  ivory -tipped  ebony  cane,  who 
tripped  along  the  little  place  with  a  solemn  smirk,  which 
gave  one  an  indescribable  feeling  of  the  truth  of  Gil 


272  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Bias,  and  of  those  delightful  bachelors  and  licentiates 
who  have  appeared  to  us  all  in  our  dreams. 

In  fact  we  were  but  half-an-hour  in  this  little  queer 
Spanish  town;  and  it  appeared  like  a  dream,  too,  or  a 
little  show  got  up  to  amuse  us.  Boom !  the  gun  fired  at 
the  end  of  the  funny  little  entertainment.  The  women 
and  the  balconies,  the  beggars  and  the  walking  ISIurillos, 
Pooch  and  the  little  soldiers  in  tinsel,  disappeared,  and 
were  shut  up  in  their  box  again.  Once  more  we  were 
carried  on  the  beggars'  shoulders  out  off  the  shore,  and 
we  found  ourselves  again  in  the  great  stalwart  roast-beef 
world;  the  stout  British  steamer  bearing  out  of  the  bay, 
whose  purple  waters  had  grown  more  purple.  The  sun 
had  set  by  this  time,  and  the  moon  above  was  twice  as  big 
and  bright  as  our  degenerate  moons  are. 

The  providor  had  already  returned  with  his  fresh 
stores,  and  Bundy's  tin  hat  was  popped  into  its  case,  and 
he  walking  the  deck  of  the  packet  denuded  of  tails.  As 
we  went  out  of  the  bay,  occurred  a  little  incident  with 
which  the  great  incidents  of  the  day  may  be  said  to  wind 
up.  We  saw  before  us  a  little  vessel,  tumbling  and 
plunging  about  in  the  dark  waters  of  the  bay,  with  a 
bright  light  beaming  from  the  mast.  It  made  for  us  at 
about  a  couple  of  miles  from  the  town,  and  came  close 
up,  flouncing  and  bobbing  in  the  very  jaws  of  the  pad- 
dle, which  looked  as  if  it  would  have  seized  and  twirled 
round  that  little  boat  and  its  light,  and  destroyed  them 
for  ever  and  ever.  All  the  passengers,  of  course,  came 
crowding  to  the  ship's  side  to  look  at  the  bold  little  boat. 

"  I  say!"  howled  a  man;  "  I  say!— a  word!— I  say! 
Pasagero!  Pasagero!  Pasage-e-ero ! "  We  were  two 
hundred  yards  ahead  by  this  time. 


AFLOAT  273. 

"  Go  on,"  says  the  captain. 

"  You  may  stop  if  you  like,"  says  Lieutenant  Bundy, 
exerting  his  tremendous  responsibiHt3\  It  is  evident 
that  the  heutenant  has  a  soft  heart,  and  felt  for  the  poor 
devil  in  the  boat  who  was  howling  so  j)iteousty  "  Pasa- 
gero !  " 

But  the  captain  was  resolute.  His  duty  was  not  to 
take  the  man  up.  He  was  evidently  an  irregular  cus- 
tomer— some  one  trying  to  escape,  possibl}'". 

The  lieutenant  turned  away,  but  did  not  make  any 
further  hints.  The  captain  was  right;  but  we  all  felt 
somehow  disappointed,  and  looked  back  wistfully  at  the 
little  boat,  jumping  up  and  down  far  astern  now;  the 
poor  little  light  shining  in  vain,  and  the  poor  wretch 
within  screaming  out  in  the  most  heart-rending  accents 
a  last  faint  desperate  "  I  say!    Pasagero-o!  " 

We  all  went  down  to  tea  rather  melancholy;  but  the 
new  milk,  in  the  place  of  that  abominable  whipped  egg, 
revived  us  again ;  and  so  ended  the  great  events  on  board 
the  "  Lady  Mary  Wood  "  steamer,  on  the  25th  August, 
1844. 


CHAPTER  II 

LISBON  — CADIZ 

A  GREAT  misfortune  which  befalls  a  man  who  has 
L  but  a  single  day  to  stay  in  a  town,  is  that  fatal 
duty  which  superstition  entails  upon  him  of  visiting  the 
chief  lions  of  the  city  in  which  he  may  happen  to  be. 
You  must  go  through  the  ceremony,  however  much  you 
may  sigh  to  avoid  it;  and  however  much  you  know  that 
the  lions  in  one  capital  roar  very  much  like  the  lions  in 
another;  that  the  churches  are  more  or  less  large  and 
splendid,  the  palaces  pretty  spacious,  all  the  world  over; 
and  that  there  is  scarcely  a  capital  city  in  this  Europe 
but  has  its  pompous  bronze  statue  or  two  of  some  peri- 
wigged, hook-nosed  emperor,  in  a  Roman  habit,  waving 
his  bronze  baton  on  his  broad-flanked  brazen  charger. 
We  only  saw  these  state  old  lions  in  Lisbon,  whose  roar 
has  long  since  ceased  to  frighten  one.  First  we  went  to 
the  Church  of  St.  Roch,  to  see  a  famous  piece  of  mosaic- 
work  there.  It  is  a  famous  work  of  art,  and  was  bought 
by  I  don't  know  what  king  for  I  don't  know  how  much 
money.  All  this  information  may  be  perfectly  relied 
on,  though  the  fact  is,  we  did  not  see  the  mosaic- work: 
the  sacristan,  who  guards  it,  was  yet  in  bed;  and  it  was 
veiled  from  our  eyes  in  a  side-chapel  by  great  dirty 
damask  curtains,  which  could  not  be  removed,  except 
when  the  sacristan's  toilette  was  done,  and  at  the  price 
of  a  dollar.     So  we  were  spared  this  mosaic  exhibition; 

274 


LISBON  275 

and  I  think  I  always  feel  relieved  when  such  an  event 
occurs.  I  feel  I  have  done  my  duty  in  coming  to  see  the 
enormous  animal;  if  he  is  not  at  home,  virtute  med  me, 
^c. — we  have  done  our  hest,  and  mortal  can  do  no  more. 
In  order  to  reach  that  church  of  the  forbidden  mosaic, 
we  had  sweated  up  several  most  steep  and  dusty  streets 
— hot  and  dusty,  although  it  was  but  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Thence  the  guide  conducted  us  into  some  lit- 
tle dust-powdered  gardens,  in  which  the  people  make 
believe  to  enjoy  the  verdure,  and  whence  you  look  over 
a  great  part  of  the  arid,  dreary,  stony  city.  There  was 
no  smoke,  as  in  honest  London,  only  dust — dust  over  the 
gaunt  houses  and  the  dismal  yellow  strips  of  gardens. 
Many  churches  were  there,  and  tall,  half-baked-looking 
public  edifices,  that  had  a  dry,  uncomfortable,  earth- 
quaky  look,  to  my  idea.  The  ground-floors  of  the  spa- 
cious houses  by  which  we  passed  seemed  the  coolest  and 
pleasantest  portions  of  the  mansion.  They  were  cellars 
or  warehouses,  for  the  most  part,  in  which  white- jack- 
eted clerks  sat  smoking  easy  cigars.  The  streets  were 
plastered  with  placards  of  a  bull-fight,  to  take  place  the 
next  evening  (there  was  no  opera  at  that  season)  ;  but  it 
was  not  a  real  Spanish  tauromachy — only  a  theatrical 
combat,  as  you  could  see  by  the  picture  in  which  the 
horseman  was  cantering  off  at  three  miles  an  hour,  the 
bull  tripping  after  him  with  tips  to  his  gentle  horns. 
Mules  interminable,  and  almost  all  excellently  sleek  and 
handsome,  were  pacing  down  every  street:  here  and 
there,  but  later  in  the  day,  came  clattering  along  a  smart 
rider  on  a  prancing  Spanish  horse;  and  in  the  afternoon 
a  few  families  might  be  seen  in  the  queerest  old-fash- 
ioned little  carriages,  drawn  by  their  jolly  mules  and 
swinging  between,  or  rather  before,  enormous  wheels. 


276  JOURXEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  churches  I  saw  were  of  the  florid  periwig  archi- 
tecture.— I  mean  of  that  pompous,  cauhflower  kind  of 
ornament  which  was  the  fashion  in  Louis  the  Fifteenth's 
time,  at  which  unlucky  period  a  building  mania  seems  to 
have  seized  upon  many  of  the  monarchs  of  Europe,  and 
innumerable  public  edifices  were  erected.  It  seems  to 
me  to  have  been  the  period  in  all  history  when  society 
was  the  least  natural,  and  perhaps  the  most  dissolute; 
and  I  have  always  fancied  that  the  bloated  artificial 
forms  of  the  architecture  partake  of  the  social  disorgani- 
zation of  the  time.  Who  can  respect  a  simpering  ninny, 
grinning  in  a  Roman  dress  and  a  full-bottomed  wig,  who 
is  made  to  pass  off  for  a  hero ;  or  a  fat  woman  in  a  hoop, 
and  of  a  most  doubtful  virtue,  who  leers  at  you  as  a  god- 
dess? In  the  palaces  which  we  saw,  several  court  alle- 
gories were  represented,  which,  atrocious  as  they  were  in 
point  of  art,  might  yet  serve  to  attract  the  regard  of  the 
moralizer.  There  were  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  re- 
storing Don  John  to  the  arms  of  his  happy  Portugal: 
there  were  Virtue,  Valour,  and  Victory  saluting  Don 
Emanuel:  Reading,  Writing,  and  Arithmetic  (for  what 
I  know,  or  some  mji:hologic  nymphs)  dancing  before 
Don  ]Miguel— the  picture  is  there  still,  at  the  Ajuda; 
and  ah  me!  where  is  poor  INIig?  Well,  it  is  these  state 
lies  and  ceremonies  that  we  persist  in  going  to  see; 
whereas  a  man  would  have  a  much  better  insight  into 
Portuguese  manners,  by  planting  himself  at  a  corner, 
like  yonder  beggar,  and  watching  the  real  transactions 
of  the  day. 

A  drive  to  Belem  is  the  regular  route  practised  by  the 
traveller  who  has  to  make  only  a  short  stay,  and  accord- 
ingly a  couple  of  carriages  were  provided  for  our  party, 
and  we  were  driven  through  the  long  merry  street  of 


BELEM  277 

Belem,  peopled  by  endless  strings  of  mules,— by  thou- 
sands of  gallegos,  with  water-barrels  on  their  shoulders, 
or  lounging  by  the  fountains  to  hire, — by  the  Lisbon 
and  Belem  omnibuses,  with  four  mules,  jingling  along 
at  a  good  pace ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  to  present  a  far  more 
lively  and  cheerful,  though  not  so  regular,  an  appear- 
ance as  the  stately  quarters  of  the  city  we  had  left  be- 
hind us.  The  little  shops  were  at  full  work — the  men 
brown,  well-dressed,  manly,  and  handsome :  so  much  can- 
not, I  am  sorry  to  say,  be  said  for  the  ladies,  of  whom, 
with  every  anxiety  to  do  so,  our  party  could  not  perceive 
a  single  good-looking  specimen  all  day.  The  noble  blue 
Tagus  accompanies  you  all  along  these  three  miles  of 
busy,  pleasant  street,  whereof  the  chief  charm,  as  I 
thought,  was  its  look  of  genuine  business — that  appear- 
ance of  comfort  which  the  cleverest  court-architect  never 
knows  how  to  give. 

The  carriages  (the  canvas  one  with  four  seats  and  the 
chaise  in  which  I  drove)  were  brought  suddenly  up  to  a 
gate  with  the  royal  arms  over  it ;  and  here  we  were  intro- 
duced to  as  queer  an  exhibition  as  the  eye  has  often 
looked  on.  This  was  the  state-carriage  house,  where 
there  is  a  museum  of  huge  old  tumble-down  gilded 
coaches  of  the  last  century,  lying  here,  mouldy  and  dark, 
in  a  sort  of  limbo.  The  gold  has  vanished  from  the  great 
lumbering  old  wheels  and  panels ;  the  velvets  are  wof  ully 
tarnished.  When  one  thinks  of  the  patches  and  powder 
that  have  simpered  out  of  those  plate-glass  windows — 
the  mitred  bishops,  the  big-wigged  marshals,  the  shovel- 
hatted  abbes  which  they  have  borne  in  their  time — the 
human  mind  becomes  affected  in  no  ordinary  degree. 
Some  human  minds  heave  a  sigh  for  the  glories  of  by- 
gone days;  while  others,  considering  rather  the  lies  and 


278  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

humbug,  the  vice  and  servility,  which  went  framed  and 
glazed  and  enshrined,  creaking  along  in  those  old  Jug- 
gernaut cars,  with  fools  worshipping  under  the  wheels, 
console  themselves  for  the  decay  of  institutions  that  may 
have  been  splendid  and  costly,  but  were  ponderous, 
clumsy,  slow,  and  unfit  for  daily  wear.  The  guardian 
of  these  defunct  old  carriages  tells  some  prodigious  fibs 
concerning  them:  he  pointed  out  one  carriage  that  was 
six  hundred  years  old  in  his  calendar;  but  any  connois- 
seur in  bric-a-brac  can  see  it  was  built  at  Paris  in  the 
Regent  Orleans'  time. 

Hence  it  is  but  a  step  to  an  institution  in  full  life  and 
vigour, — a  noble  orphan-school  for  one  thousand  boys 
and  girls,  founded  by  Don  Pedro,  who  gave  up  to  its  use 
the  superb  convent  of  Belem,  with  its  splendid  cloisters, 
vast  airy  dormitories,  and  magnificent  church.  Some 
Oxford  gentlemen  would  have  wept  to  see  the  desecrated 
edifice, — to  think  that  the  shaven  polls  and  white  gowns 
were  banished  from  it  to  give  place  to  a  thousand  chil- 
dren, who  have  not  even  the  clergy  to  instruct  them. 
"  Every  lad  here  may  choose  his  trade,"  pur  little  infor- 
mant said,  who  addressed  us  in  better  French  than  any 
of  our  party  spoke,  whose  manners  were  perfectly  gen- 
tlemanlike and  respectful,  and  whose  clothes,  though  of 
a  common  cotton  stuff,  were  cut  and  worn  with  a  military 
neatness  and  precision.  All  the  children  whom  we  re- 
marked were  dressed  with  similar  neatness,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  go  through  their  various  rooms  for  study, 
where  some  were  busy  at  mathematics,  some  at  drawing, 
some  attending  a  lecture  on  tailoring,  while  others  were 
sitting  at  the  feet  of  a  professor  of  the  science  of  shoe- 
making.  All  the  garments  of  the  establishment  were 
made  by  the  pupils ;  even  the  deaf  and  dumb  were  draw- 


A  SCHOOL  279 

ing  and  reading,  and  the  blind  were,  for  the  most  part, 
set  to  perform  on  musical  instruments,  and  got  up  a 
concert  for  the  visitors.  It  was  then  we  wished  ourselves 
of  the  numbers  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  for  the  poor  fel- 
lows made  noises  so  horrible,  that  even  as  blind  beggars 
they  could  hardly  get  a  livelihood  in  the  musical  way. 

Hence  we  were  driven  to  the  huge  palace  of  Necessi- 
dades,  which  is  but  a  wing  of  a  building  that  no  King  of 
Portugal  ought  ever  to  be  rich  enough  to  complete,  and 
which,  if  perfect,  might  outvie  the  Tower  of  Babel. 
The  mines  of  Brazil  must  have  been  productive  of  gold 
and  silver  indeed  when  the  founder  imagined  this  enor- 
mous edifice.  From  the  elevation  on  which  it  stands  it 
commands  the  noblest  views, — the  city  is  spread  before 
it,  with  its  many  churches  and  towers,  and  for  many 
miles  you  see  the  magnificent  Tagus,  rolling  by  banks 
crowned  with  trees  and  towers.  But  to  arrive  at  this 
enormous  building  you  have  to  climb  a  steep  suburb  of 
wretched  huts,  many  of  them  with  dismal  gardens  of 
dry,  cracked  earth,  where  a  few  reedy  sprouts  of  Indian 
corn  seemed  to  be  the  chief  cultivation,  and  which  were 
guarded  by  huge  plants  of  spiky  aloes,  on  which  the 
rags  of  the  proprietors  of  the  huts  were  sunning  them- 
selves. The  terrace  before  the  palace  was  similarly  en- 
croached upon  by  these  wretched  habitations.  A  few 
millions  judiciously  expended  might  make  of  this  arid 
hill  one  of  the  most  magnificent  gardens  in  the  world; 
and  the  palace  seems  to  me  to  excel  for  situation  any 
royal  edifice  I  have  ever  seen.  But  the  huts  of  these 
swarming  poor  have  crawled  up  close  to  its  gates, — the 
superb  walls  of  hewn  stone  stop  all  of  a  sudden  with  a 
lath-and-plaster  hitch;  and  capitals,  and  hewn  stones  for 


280  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

columns,  still  lying  about  on  the  deserted  terrace,  may  lie 
there  for  ages  to  come,  probably,  and  never  take  their 
places  by  the  side  of  their  brethren  in  yonder  tall  bank- 
rupt galleries.  The  air  of  this  pure  sky  has  little  effect 
upon  the  edifices,— the  edges  of  the  stone  look  as  sharp 
as  if  the  builders  had  just  left  their  work;  and  close  to 
the  grand  entrance  stands  an  outbuilding,  part  of  which 
may  have  been  burnt  fifty  years  ago,  but  is  in  such  cheer- 
ful preservation  that  you  might  fancy  the  fire  had  oc- 
curred yesterday.  It  must  have  been  an  awful  sight 
from  this  hill  to  have  looked  at  the  city  spread  before  it, 
and  seen  it  reeling  and  swaying  in  the  time  of  the  earth- 
quake. I  thought  it  looked  so  hot  and  shaky,  that  one 
might  fancy  a  return  of  the  fit.  In  several  places  still 
remain  gaps  and  chasms,  and  ruins  lie  here  and  there  as 
they  cracked  and  fell. 

Although  the  palace  has  not  attained  anything  like  its 
full  growth,  3^et  what  exists  is  quite  big  enough  for  the 
monarch  of  such  a  little  country;  and  Versailles  or 
Windsor  has  not  apartments  more  nobly  proportioned. 
The  Queen  resides  in  the  Ajuda,  a  building  of  much  less 
pretensions,  of  w^hich  the  yellow  walls  and  beautiful  gar- 
dens are  seen  between  Belem  and  the  city.  The  Necessi- 
dades  are  only  used  for  grand  galas,  receptions  of  am- 
bassadors, and  ceremonies  of  state.  In  the  throne-room 
is  a  huge  throne,  surmounted  by  an  enormous  gilt  crown, 
than  which  I  have  never  seen  anything  larger  in  the 
finest  pantomime  at  Drury  Lane;  but  the  effect  of  this 
splendid  piece  is  lessened  by  a  shabby  old  Brussels  car- 
pet, almost  the  only  other  article  of  furniture  in  the 
apartment,  and  not  quite  large  enough  to  cover  its  spa- 
cious floor.  The  looms  of  Kidderminster  have  supplied 
the  web  which  ornaments  the  "Ambassadors'  Waiting- 


THE  PALACE  281 

Room,"  and  the  ceilings  are  painted  with  hu^e  allegories 
in  distemper,  which  pretty  well  correspond  with  the 
other  furniture.  Of  all  the  undignified  ohjects  in  the 
world,  a  palace  out  at  elbows  is  surely  the  meanest. 
Such  places  ought  not  to  be  seen  in  adversity, — splen- 
dour is  their  decency, — and  when  no  longer  able  to  main- 
tain it,  they  should  sink  to  the  level  of  their  means, 
calmly  subside  into  manufactories,  or  go  shabby  in  se- 
clusion. 

There  is  a  picture-gallery  belonging  to  the  palace  that 
is  quite  of  a  piece  with  the  furniture,  where  are  the 
mythological  pieces  relative  to  the  kings  before  alluded 
to,  and  where  the  English  visitor  will  see  some  astonish- 
ing pictures  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  done  in  a  very 
characteristic  style  of  Portuguese  art.  There  is  also  a 
chapel,  which  has  been  decorated  with  much  ca^e  and 
sumptuousness  of  ornament, — the  altar  surmounted  by 
a  ghastly  and  horrible  carved  figure  in  the  taste  of  the 
time  when  faith  was  strengthened  by  the  shrieks  of  Jews 
on  the  rack,  and  enlivened  by  the  roasting  of  heretics. 
Other  such  frightful  images  may  be  seen  in  the  churches 
of  the  city;  those  which  we  saw  were  still  rich,  tawdry, 
and  splendid  to  outward  show,  although  the  French,  as 
usual,  had  robbed  their  shrines  of  their  gold  and  silver, 
and  the  statues  of  their  jewels  and  crowns.  But  brass 
and  tinsel  look  to  the  visitor  full  as  well  at  a  little  dis- 
tance,— as  doubtless  Soult  and  Junot  thought,  when 
they  despoiled  these  places  of  worship,  like  French  phi- 
losophers as  they  were. 

A  friend,  with  a  classical  turn  of  mind,  was  bent  upon 
seeing  the  aqueduct,  whither  we  went  on  a  dismal  excur- 
sion of  three  hours  in  the  worst  carriages,  over  the  most 
diabolical  clattering  roads,  up  and  down  dreary  parched 


282  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

hills,  on  which  grew  a  few  grey  olive-trees  and  many 
aloes.  When  we  arrived,  the  gate  leading  to  the  aque- 
duct was  closed,  and  we  were  entertained  with  a  legend 
of  some  respectable  character  who  had  made  a  good  live- 
lihood there  for  some  time  past  lately,  having  a  private 
key  to  this  very  aqueduct,  and  lying  in  wait  there  for 
unwary  travellers  like  ourselves,  whom  he  pitched  down 
the  arches  into  the  ravines  below,  and  there  robbed  them 
at  leisure.  So  that  all  we  saw  was  the  door  and  the  tall 
arches  of  the  aqueduct,  and  by  the  time  we  returned  to 
town  it  was  time  to  go  on  board  the  ship  again.  If  the 
inn  at  which  we  had  sojourned  was  not  of  the  best  qual- 
ity, the  bill,  at  least,  would  have  done  honour  to  the  first 
establishment  in  London.  We  all  left  the  house  of  en- 
tertainment joyfully,  glad  to  get  out  of  the  sun-burnt 
city  and  go  home.  Yonder  in  the  steamer  was  home, 
with  its  black  funnel  and  gilt  portraiture  of  "  Lady 
Mary  Wood  "  at  the  bows;  and  every  soul  on  board  felt 
glad  to  return  to  the  friendly  little  vessel.  But  the  au- 
thorities of  Lisbon,  however,  are  very  suspicious  of  the 
departing  stranger,  and  we  were  made  to  lie  an  hour  in 
the  river  before  the  Sanita  boat,  where  a  passport  is  ne- 
cessary to  be  procured  before  the  traveller  can  quit  the 
country.  Boat  after  boat,  laden  with  priests  and  peasan- 
try, with  handsome  red-sashed  gallegos  clad  in  brown, 
and  ill-favoured  women,  came  and  got  their  permits,  and 
were  off,  as  we  lay  bumping  up  against  the  old  hull  of 
the  Sanita  boat :  but  the  officers  seemed  to  take  a  delight 
in  keeping  us  there  bumping,  looked  at  us  quite  calmly 
over  the  ship's  sides,  and  smoked  their  cigars  without  the 
least  attention  to  the  prayers  which  we  shrieked  out  for 
release. 


CADIZ  283 

If  we  were  glad  to  get  away  from  Lisbon,  we  were 
quite  as  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  quit  Cadiz,  which  we 
reached  the  next  night,  and  where  we  were  allowed  a 
couple  of  hours'  leave  to  land  and  look  about.  It  seemed 
as  handsome  within  as  it  is  stately  without ;  the  long  nar- 
row streets  of  an  admirable  cleanliness,  many  of  the  tall 
houses  of  rich  and  noble  decorations,  and  all  looking  as 
if  the  city  were  in  full  prosperity.  I  have  seen  no  more 
cheerful  and  animated  sight  than  the  long  street  leading 
from  the  quay  where  we  were  landed,  and  the  market 
blazing  in  sunshine,  piled  with  fruit,  fish,  and  poultrj'-, 
under  many-coloured  awnings ;  the  tall  white  houses  with 
their  balconies  and  galleries  shining  round  about,  and 
the  sky  above  so  blue  that  the  best  cobalt  in  all  the  paint- 
box looks  muddy  and  dim  in  comparison  to  it.  There 
were  pictures  for  a  year  in  that  market-place — from  the 
copper-coloured  old  hags  and  beggars  who  roared  to 
you  for  the  love  of  heaven  to  give  money,  to  the  swagger- 
ing dandies  of  the  market,  with  red  sashes  and  tight 
clothes,  looking  on  superbly,  with  a  hand  on  the  hip  and 
a  cigar  in  the  mouth.  These  must  be  the  chief  critics  at 
the  great  bull-fight  house  j^onder  by  the  Alameda,  with 
its  scanty  trees  and  cool  breezes  facing  the  water.  Xor 
are  there  any  corks  to  the  bulls'  horns  here  as  at  Lisbon. 
A  small  old  English  guide  who  seized  upon  me  the  mo- 
ment my  foot  was  on  shore,  had  a  store  of  agreeable 
legends  regarding  the  bulls,  men,  and  horses  that  had 
been  killed  with  unbounded  profusion  in  the  late  enter- 
tainments which  have  taken  place. 

It  was  so  early  an  hour  in  the  morning  that  the  shops 
were  scarcely  opened  as  yet ;  the  churches,  however,  stood 
open  for  the  faithful,  and  we  met  scores  of  women  trip- 


284  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

ping  towards  them  with  pretty  feet,  and  smart  black 
mantillas,  from  which  looked  out  fine  dark  eyes  and 
handsome  pale  faces,  very  different  from  the  coarse 
brown  countenances  we  had  seen  at  Lisbon.  A  very 
handsome  modern  cathedral,  built  by  the  present  bishop 
at  his  own  charges,  was  the  finest  of  the  public  edifices 
we  saw;  it  was  not,  however,  nearly  so  much  frequented 
as  another  little  church,  crowded  with  altars  and  fantas- 
tic ornaments,  and  lights  and  gilding,  where  we  were 
told  to  look  behind  a  huge  iron  grille,  and  beheld  a  bevy 
of  black  nuns  kneeling.  JMost  of  the  good  ladies  in  the 
front  ranks  stopped  their  devotions,  and  looked  at  the 
strangers  with  as  much  curiosity  as  we  directed  at  them 
through  the  gloomy  bars  of  their  chapel.  The  men's 
convents  are  closed ;  that  which  contains  the  famous  ]\Iu- 
rillos  has  been  turned  into  an  academy  of  the  fine  arts; 
but  the  English  guide  did  not  think  the  pictures  were 
of  sufficient  interest  to  detain  strangers,  and  so  hurried 
us  back  to  the  shore,  and  grumbled  at  only  getting  three 
shillings  at  parting  for  his  trouble  and  his  information. 
And  so  our  residence  in  Andalusia  began  and  ended 
before  breakfast,  and  we  went  on  board  and  steamed  for 
Gibraltar,  looking,  as  we  passed,  at  Joinville's  black 
squadron,  and  the  white  houses  of  St.  JNIary's  across  the 
bay,  with  the  hills  of  JNIedina  Sidonia  and  Granada  lying 
purple  beyond  them.  There's  something  even  in  those 
names  which  is  pleasant  to  write  down;  to  have  passed 
only  two  hours  in  Cadiz  is  something — to  have  seen  real 
donnas  with  comb  and  mantle— real  caballeros  with 
cloak  and  cigar — real  Spanish  barbers  lathering  out  of 
brass  basins,— and  to  have  heard  guitars  under  the  bal- 
conies: there  was  one  that  an  old  beggar  was  jangling  in 
the  market,  whilst  a  huge  leering  fellow  in  bushy  whis- 


CADIZ  285 

kers  and  a  faded  velvet  dress  came  singing  and  jumping 
after  our  party, — not  singing  to  a  guitar,  it  is  true,  but 
imitating  one  capitally  with  his  voice,  and  cracking  his 
fingers  by  way  of  castanets,  and  performing  a  dance 
such  as  Figaro  or  Lablache  might  envy.  How  clear  that 
fellow's  voice  thrums  on  the  ear  even  now;  and  how 
bright  and  pleasant  remains  the  recollection  of  the  fine 
city  and  the  blue  sea,  and  the  Spanish  flags  floating  on 
the  boats  that  danced  over  it,  and  Joinville's  band  begin- 
ning to  play  stirring  marches  as  we  puffed  out  of  the 
bay. 

The  next  stage  was  Gibraltar,  w^here  we  were  to 
change  horses.  Before  sunset  we  skirted  along  the  dark 
savage  mountains  of  the  African  coast,  and  came  to  the 
Rock  just  before  gun-fire.  It  is  the  very  image  of  an 
enormous  lion,  crouched  between  the  Atlantic  and  the 
Mediterranean,  and  set  there  to  guard  the  passage  for 
its  British  mistress.  The  next  British  lion  is  ^lalta,  four 
days  further  on  in  the  INIidland  Sea,  and  ready  to  spring 
upon  Egypt  or  pounce  upon  Syria,  or  roar  so  as  to  be 
heard  at  Marseilles  in  case  of  need. 

To  the  eyes  of  the  civilian  the  first-named  of  these 
famous  fortifications  is  by  far  the  most  imposing.  The 
Rock  looks  so  tremendous,  that  to  ascend  it,  even  with- 
out the  compliment  of  shells  or  shot,  seems  a  dreadful 
task— what  would  it  be  when  all  those  mysterious  lines 
of  batteries  were  vomiting  fire  and  brimstone ;  when  all 
those  dark  guns  that  you  see  poking  their  grim  heads 
out  of  every  imaginable  cleft  and  zigzag  should  salute 
you  with  shot,  both  hot  and  cold;  and  when,  after  tug- 
ging up  the  hideous  perpendicular  place,  you  were  to 
find  regiments  of  British  grenadiers  ready  to  plunge 


286  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

bayonets  into  your  poor  panting  stomach,  and  let  out 
artificially  the  little  breath  left  there?  It  is  a  marvel  to 
think  that  soldiers  will  mount  such  places  for  a  shilling 
—ensigns  for  five  and  ninepence— a  day:  a  cabman 
would  ask  double  the  money  to  go  half  way!  One 
meekly  reflects  upon  the  above  strange  truths,  leaning 
over  the  ship's  side,  and  looking  up  the  huge  mountain, 
from  the  tower  nestled  at  the  foot  of  it  to  the  thin  flag- 
staff at  the  summit,  up  to  which  have  been  piled  the  most 
ingenious  edifices  for  murder  Christian  science  ever 
adopted.  My  hobby-horse  is  a  quiet  beast,  suited  for 
Park  riding,  or  a  gentle  trot  to  Putney  and  back  to  a 
snug  stable,  and  plenty  of  feeds  of  corn: — it  can't  abide 
climbing  hills,  and  is  not  at  all  used  to  gunpowder. 
Some  men's  animals  are  so  spirited  that  the  very  appear- 
ance of  a  stone-wall  sets  them  jumping  at  it;  regular 
chargers  of  hobbies,  which  snort  and  say—"  Ha,  ha!  "  at 
the  mere  notion  of  a  battle. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE    "  LADY    MARY    WOOD  " 


OUR  week's  voyage  is  now  drawing  to  a  close.  We 
have  just  been  to  look  at  Cape  Trafalgar,  shining 
white  over  the  finest  blue  sea.  (We,  who  were  looking 
at  Trafalgar  Square  only  the  other  day!)  The  sight  of 
that  cape  must  have  disgusted  Joinville  and  his  fleet  of 
steamers,  as  they  passed  yesterday  into  Cadiz  ba}^  and 
to-morrow  will  give  them  a  sight  of  St.  Vincent. 

One  of  their  steam-vessels  has  been  lost  off  the  coast 
of  Africa ;  they  were  obliged  to  burn  her,  lest  the  ISIoors 
should  take  possession  of  her.  She  was  a  virgin  vessel, 
just  out  of  Brest.  Poor  innocent!  to  die  in  the  very  first 
month  of  her  union  with  the  noble  whiskered  god  of  war. 

We  Britons  on  board  the  English  boat  received  the 
news  of  the  "  Groenenland's  "  abrupt  demise  with  grins 
of  satisfaction.  It  was  a  sort  of  national  compliment, 
and  cause  of  agreeable  congratulation.  "  The  lubbers!  " 
we  said;  "  the  clumsy  humbugs!  there's  none  but  Britons 
to  rule  the  waves!  "  and  we  gave  ourselves  piratical  airs, 
and  went  down  presently  and  were  sick  in  our  little 
buggy  berths.  It  was  pleasant,  certainly,  to  laugh  at 
Joinville's  admiral's  flag  floating  at  his  foremast,  in  yon- 
der black  ship,  with  its  two  thundering  great  guns  at 
the  bows  and  stern,  its  busy  crew  swarming  on  the  deck, 
and  a  crowd  of  obsequious  shore-boats  bustling  round 
the  vessel— and  to  sneer  at  the  JNIogador  warrior,  and 

287 


288  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

vow  that  we  English,  had  we  been  inclined  to  do  the  busi- 
ness, would  have  performed  it  a  great  deal  better. 

Now  yesterday  at  Lisbon  we  saw  H.M.S.  "  Caledo- 
nia." This,  on  the  contrary,  inspired  us  with  feelings 
of  respect  and  awful  pleasure.  There  she  lay — the  huge 
sea-castle— bearing  the  unconquerable  flag  of  our  coun- 
try. She  had  but  to  open  her  jaws,  as  it  were,  and  she 
might  bring  a  second  earthquake  on  the  city— batter  it 
into  kingdom-come— with  the  Ajuda  palace  and  the 
Necessidades,  the  churches,  and  the  lean,  dry,  empty 
streets,  and  Don  John,  tremendous  on  horseback,  in  the 
midst  of  Black  Horse  Square.  Wherever  we  looked  we 
could  see  that  enormous  "  Caledonia,"  with  her  flashing 
three  lines  of  guns.  We  looked  at  the  little  boats  which 
ever  and  anon  came  out  of  this  monster,  with  humble 
wonder.  There  was  the  lieutenant  who  boarded  us  at 
midnight  before  we  dropped  anchor  in  the  river:  ten 
white- jacketed  men  pulling  as  one,  swept  along  with  the 
barge,  gig,  boat,  curricle,  or  coach-and-six,  with  which 
he  came  up  to  us.  We  examined  him — his  red  whiskers 
— his  collars  turned  down  — his  duck  trousers,  his  bullion 
epaulets — with  awe.  With  the  same  reverential  feeling 
we  examined  the  seamen — the  young  gentleman  in  the 
bows  of  the  boat — the  handsome  young  officers  of  ma- 
rines we  met  sauntering  in  the  town  next  day — the 
Scotch  surgeon  who  boarded  us  as  we  weighed  anchor — 
every  man,  down  to  the  broken-nosed  mariner  who  was 
drunk  in  a  wine-house,  and  had  "  Caledonia  "  written 
on  his  hat.  Whereas  at  the  Frenchmen  we  looked  with 
undisguised  contempt.  AVe  were  ready  to  burst  with 
laughter  as  we  passed  the  Prince's  vessel— there  was  a 
little  French  boy  in  a  French  boat  alongside  cleaning  it. 


TRAVELLING  FRIENDS  289 

and  twirling  about  a  little  French  mop— we  thought  it 
the  most  comical,  contemptible  French  boy,  mop,  boat, 
steamer,  prince— Psha!  it  is  of  this  wretched  vapouring 
stuff  that  false  patriotism  is  made.  I  write  this  as  a  sort 
of  homily  apropos  of  the  day,  and  Cape  Trafalgar,  off 
which  we  lie.  What  business  have  I  to  strut  the  deck, 
and  clap  my  wings,  and  cry  "  Cock-a-doodle-doo  "  over 
it?    Some  compatriots  are  at  that  work  even  now. 

We  have  lost  one  by  one  all  our  jovial  company. 
There  were  the  five  Oporto  ^vine-merchants— all  hearty 
English  gentlemen— gone  to  their  wine-butts,  and  their 
red-legged  partridges,  and  their  duels  at  Oporto.  It  ap- 
pears that  these  gallant  Britons  fight  every  morning 
among  themselves,  and  give  the  benighted  people  among 
whom  they  live  an  opportunity  to  admire  the  spirit  na- 
tional. There  is  the  brave,  honest  major,  with  his 
wooden  leg— the  kindest  and  simplest  of  Irishmen:  he 
has  embraced  his  children,  and  reviewed  his  little  invalid 
garrison  of  fifteen  men,  in  the  fort  which  he  commands 
at  Beldem,  by  this  time,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  played  to 
every  soul  of  them  the  twelve  tunes  of  his  musical-box. 
It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  with  that  musical-box— how 
pleased  he  wound  it  up  after  dinner— how  happih^  he 
listened  to  the  little  clinking  tunes  as  they  galloped, 
ding-dong,  after  each  other.  A  man  who  carries  a  mu- 
sical-box is  always  a  good-natured  man. 

Then  there  was  his  Grace,  or  his  Grandeur,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Beyrouth  (in  the  parts  of  the  infidels),  his 
Holiness's  Nuncio  to  the  court  of  her  ^lost  Faithful 
Majesty,  and  who  mingled  among  us  like  any  simple 
mortal,— except  that  he  had  an  extra  smiling  courtesy, 
which  simple  mortals  do  not  always  possess;  and  when 
you  passed  him  as  such,  and  puffed  your  cigar  in  his 


290  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

face,  took  off  his  hat  with  a  grin  of  such  prodigious  rap- 
ture, as  to  lead  you  to  suppose  that  the  most  deHcious 
privilege  of  his  whole  life  was  that  permission  to  look 
at  the  tip  of  your  nose  or  of  your  cigar.  With  this  most 
reverend  prelate  was  his  Grace's  brother  and  chaplain — 
a  very  greasy  and  good-natured  ecclesiastic,  who,  from 
his  physiognomy,  I  would  have  imagined  to  be  a  digni- 
tary of  the  Israehtish  rather  than  the  Romish  church — 
as  profuse  in  smiling  courtesy  as  his  Lordship  of  Bey- 
routh. These  two  had  a  meek  little  secretary  between 
them,  and  a  tall  French  cook  and  valet,  who,  at  meal 
times,  might  be  seen  busy  about  the  cabin  where  their 
reverences  lay.  They  were  on  their  backs  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  voyage;  their  yellow  countenances 
were  not  only  unshaven,  but,  to  judge  from  appearances, 
unwashed.  They  ate  in  private ;  and  it  was  only  of  even- 
ings, as  the  sun  was  setting  over  the  western  wave,  and, 
comforted  by  the  dinner,  the  cabin-passengers  assembled 
on  the  quarter-deck,  that  we  saw  the  dark  faces  of  the 
reverend  gentlemen  among  us  for  a  while.  They  sank 
darkly  into  their  berths  when  the  steward's  bell  tolled 
for  tea. 

At  Lisbon,  where  we  came  to  anchor  at  midnight,  a 
special  boat  came  off,  whereof  the  crew  exhibited  every 
token  of  reverence  for  the  ambassador  of  the  ambassador 
of  heaven,  and  carried  him  off  from  our  company.  This 
abrupt  departure  in  the  darkness  disappointed  some  of 
us,  who  had  promised  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his 
Grandeur  depart  in  state  in  the  morning,  shaved,  clean, 
and  in  full  pontificals,  the  tripping  little  secretary 
swinging  an  incense-pot  before  him,  and  the  greasy 
chaplain  bearing  his  crosier. 

Next  day  we  had  another  bishop,  who  occupied  the 


TRAVELLING  FRIENDS  291 

very  same  berth  his  Grace  of  Beyrouth  had  quitted— 
was  sick  in  the  very  same  way— so  much  so  that  this  cabin 
of  the  "  Lady  Mary  Wood  "  is  to  be  christened  "  the 
bishop's  berth  "  henceforth;  and  a  handsome  mitre  is  to 
be  painted  on  the  basin. 

Bishop  No.  2  was  a  very  stout,  soft,  kind-looking  old 
gentleman,  in  a  square  cap,  with  a  handsome  tassel  of 
green  and  gold  round  his  portly  breast  and  back.  He 
was  dressed  in  black  robes  and  tight  purple  stockings: 
and  we  carried  him  from  Lisbon  to  the  little  flat  coast  of 
Faro,  of  which  the  meek  old  gentleman  was  the  chief 
pastor. 

We  had  not  been  half  an  hour  from  our  anchorage  in 
the  Tagus,  when  his  lordship  dived  down  into  the  episco- 
pal berth.  All  that  night  there  was  a  good  smart  breeze ; 
it  blew  fresh  all  the  next  day,  as  we  went  jumping  over 
the  blue  bright  sea ;  and  there  was  no  sign  of  his  lordship 
the  bishop  until  we  were  opposite  the  purple  hills  of  Al- 
garve,  which  lay  some  ten  miles  distant,— a  yellow  sunny 
shore  stretching  flat  before  them,  whose  long  sandy  flats 
and  villages  we  could  see  with  our  telescope  from  the 
steamer. 

Presently  a  little  vessel,  with  a  huge  shining  lateen 
sail,  and  bearing  the  blue  and  white  Portuguese  flag,  was 
seen  playing  a  sort  of  leap-frog  on  the  jolly  waves, 
jumping  over  them,  and  ducking  down  as  merry  as  could 
be.  This  little  boat  came  towards  the  steamer  as  quick 
as  ever  she  could  jump;  and  Captain  Cooper  roaring 
out,  "  Stop  her!"  to  "Lady  Mary  Wood,"  her  lady- 
ship's paddles  suddenly  ceased  twirling,  and  news  was 
carried  to  the  good  bishop  that  his  boat  was  almost 
alongside,  and  that  his  hour  was  come. 

It  was  rather  an  afl'ecting  sight  to  see  the  poor  old  fat 


292  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

gentleman,  looking  wistfully  over  the  water  as  the  boat 
now  came  up,  and  her  eight  seamen,  with  great  noise, 
energy,  and  gesticulation  laid  her  by  the  steamer.  The 
steamer  steps  were  let  down;  his  lordship's  servant,  in 
blue  and  yellow  lively,  (like  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,") 
cast  over  the  episcopal  luggage  into  the  boat,  along  with 
his  own  bundle  and  the  jack-boots  with  which  he  rides 
postilion  on  one  of  the  bishop's  fat  mules  at  Faro.  The 
blue  and  yellow  domestic  went  down  the  steps  into  the 
boat.  Then  came  the  bishop's  turn;  but  he  couldn't  do 
it  for  a  long  while.  He  went  from  one  passenger  to  an- 
other, sadly  shaking  them  by  the  hand,  .often  taking 
leave  and  seeming  loth  to  depart,  until  Captain  Cooper, 
in  a  stern  but  respectful  tone,  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  said,  I  know  not  with  what  correctness,  being 
ignorant  of  the  Spanish  language,  "  Senor  'Bispo! 
Senor  'Bispo !  "  on  which  summons  the  poor  old  man, 
looking  ruefully  round  him  once  more,  put  his  square 
cap  under  his  arm,  tucked  up  his  long  black  petticoats, 
so  as  to  show  his  purple  stockings  and  jolly  fat  calves, 
and  went  trembling  down  the  steps  towards  the  boat. 
The  good  old  man!  I  wish  I  had  had  a  shake  of  that 
trembling  podgy  hand  somehow  before  he  went  upon  his 
sea  martyrdom.  I  felt  a  love  for  that  soft-hearted  old 
Christian.  Ah!  let  us  hope  his  governante  tucked  him 
comfortably  in  bed  when  he  got  to  Faro  that  night,  and 
made  him  a  warm  gruel  and  put  his  feet  in  warm  water. 
The  men  clung  around  him,  and  almost  kissed  him  as 
they  popped  him  into  the  boat,  but  he  did  not  heed  their 
caresses.  Away  went  the  boat  scudding  madly  before 
the  wind.  Bang!  another  lateen-sailed  boat  in  the  dis- 
tance fired  a  gun  in  his  honour;  but  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing away  from  the  shore,  and  who  knows  when  that 
meek  bishop  got  home  to  his  gruel ! 


THE  MEEK  LIEUTEXANT  293 

I  think  these  were  the  notables  of  our  party.  I  will 
not  mention  the  laughing,  ogling  lady  of  Cadiz,  whose 
manners,  I  very  much  regret  to  say,  were  a  great  deal 
too  lively  for  my  sense  of  propriety ;  nor  those  fair  suf- 
ferers, her  companions,  who  lay  on  the  deck  with  sickly, 
smiling,  female  resignation :  nor  the  heroic  children,  who 
no  sooner  ate  biscuit  than  they  were  ill,  and  no  sooner 
were  ill  than  they  began  eating  biscuit  again:  but  just 
allude  to  one  other  martyr,  the  kind  lieutenant  in  charge 
of  the  mails,  and  who  bore  his  cross  with  what  I  can't  but 
think  a  very  touching  and  noble  resignation. 

There's  a  certain  sort  of  man  whose  doom  in  the  world 
is  disappointment,— who  excels  in  it,— and  whose  luck- 
less triumphs  in  his  meek  career  of  life,  I  have  often 
thought,  must  be  regarded  by  the  kind  eyes  above  with 
as  much  favour  as  the  splendid  successes  and  achieve- 
ments of  coarser  and  more  prosperous  men.  As  I  sat 
with  the  lieutenant  upon  deck,  his  telescope  laid  over  his 
lean  legs,  and  he  looking  at  the  sunset  with  a  pleased, 
withered  old  face,  he  gave  me  a  little  account  of  his  his- 
tory. I  take  it  he  is  in  no  wise  disinclined  to  talk  about 
it,  simple  as  it  is:  he  has  been  seven-and-thirty  years  in 
the  navy,  being  somewhat  more  mature  in  the  service 
than  Lieutenant  Peel,  Rear-Admiral  Prince  de  Join- 
ville,  and  other  commanders  who  need  not  be  mentioned. 
He  is  a  very  well-educated  man,  and  reads  prodigioush^ 
—travels,  histories,  lives  of  eminent  worthies  and  heroes, 
in  his  simple  way.  He  is  not  in  the  least  angry  at  his 
want  of  luck  in  the  profession.  "  Were  I  a  boy  to- 
morrow," he  said,  "  I  would  begin  it  again;  and  when  I 
see  my  schoolfellows,  and  how  they  have  got  on  in  life, 
if  some  are  better  off  than  I  am,  I  find  many  are  worse, 
and  have  no  call  to  be  discontented."  So  he  carries  her 
Majesty's  mails  meekly  through  this  world,  waits  upon 


294  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

port-admirals  and  captains  in  his  old  glazed  hat,  and  is 
as  proud  of  the  pennon  at  the  bow  of  his  little  boat,  as  if 
it  were  flying  from  the  mainmast  of  a  thundering  man- 
of-war.  He  gets  two  hundred  a  year  for  his  services, 
and  has  an  old  mother  and  a  sister  living  in  England 
somewhere,  who  I  will  wager  (though  he  never,  I  swear, 
said  a  word  about  it)  have  a  good  portion  of  this  princely 
income. 

Is  it  breaking  a  confidence  to  tell  Lieutenant  Bundy's 
history?  Let  the  motive  excuse  the  deed.  It  is  a  good, 
kind,  wholesome,  and  noble  character.  Why  should  we 
keep  all  our  admiration  for  those  who  win  in  this  world, 
as  we  do,  sycophants  as  we  are?  When  we  write  a  novel, 
our  great,  stupid  imaginations  can  go  no  further  than 
to  marry  the  hero  to  a  fortune  at  the  end,  and  to  find  out 
that  he  is  a  lord  by  right.  O  blundering,  lickspittle  mo- 
rality! And  yet  I  would  like  to  fancy  some  happy  re- 
tributive Utopia  in  the  peaceful  cloudland,  where  my 
friend  the  meek  lieutenant  should  find  the  yards  of  his 
ship  manned  as  he  went  on  board,  all  the  guns  firing  an 
enormous  salute  (only  without  the  least  noise  or  vile 
smell  of  powder) ,  and  he  be  saluted  on  the  deck  as  Ad- 
miral Sir  James,  or  Sir  Joseph — ay,  or  Lord  Viscount 
Bundy,  knight  of  all  the  orders  above  the  sun. 

I  think  this  is  a  sufficient,  if  not  a  complete  catalogue 
of  the  worthies  on  board  the  "  Lady  INIary  Wood."  In 
the  week  we  were  on  board — it  seemed  a  year,  by  the 
way — we  came  to  regard  the  ship  quite  as  a  home.  We 
felt  for  the  captain— the  most  good-humoured,  active, 
careful,  ready  of  captains— a  filial,  a  fraternal  regard; 
for  the  providor,  who  provided  for  us  with  admirable 
comfort  and  generosity,  a  genial  gratitude ;  and  for  the 
brisk  steward's  lads— brisk  in  serving  the  banquet,  sym- 


SHAKE  HANDS  295 

pathizing  in  handing  the  basin — every  possible  senti- 
ment of  regard  and  good-will.  What  winds  blew,  and 
how  many  knots  we  ran,  are  all  noted  down,  no  doubt,  in 
the  ship's  log:  and  as  for  what  ships  we  saw, — every  one 
of  them  with  their  gunnage,  tonnage,  their  nation,  their 
direction  whither  they  were  bound — were  not  these  all 
noted  down  with  surprising  ingenuity  and  precision  by 
the  lieutenant,  at  a  family  desk  at  which  he  sat  every 
night,  before  a  great  paper  elegantly  and  mysteriously 
ruled  off  with  his  large  ruler?  I  have  a  regard  for  every 
man  on  board  that  ship,  from  the  captain  down  to  the 
crew — down  even  to  the  cook,  with  tattooed  arms,  sweat- 
ing among  the  saucepans  in  the  galley,  who  used  (with  a 
touching  affection)  to  send  us  locks  of  his  hair  in  the 
soup.  And  so,  while  our  feelings  and  recollections  are 
warm,  let  us  shake  hands  with  this  knot  of  good  fellows, 
comfortably  floating  about  in  their  little  box  of  wood 
and  iron,  across  Channel,  Biscay  Bay,  and  the  Atlantic, 
from  Southampton  Water  to  Gibraltar  Straits. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GIBRALTAR 

SUPPOSE  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  to  send  fitting 
ambassadors  to  represent  them  at  Wapping  or 
Portsmouth  Point,  with  each,  under  its  own  national 
signboard  and  language,  its  appropriate  house  of  call, 
and  your  imagination  may  figure  the  Main  Street  of 
Gibraltar:  almost  the  only  part  of  the  town,  I  believe, 
which  boasts  of  the  name  of  street  at  all,  the  remaining 
houserows  being  modestly  called  lanes,  such  as  Bomb 
Lane,  Battery  Lane,  Fusee  Lane,  and  so  on.  In  INIain 
Street  the  Jews  predominate,  the  INIoors  abound;  and 
from  the  "  Jolly  Sailor,"  or  the  brave  "  Horse  Marine," 
where  the  people  of  our  nation  are  drinking  British  beer 
and  gin,  you  hear  choruses  of  "  Garryowen  "  or  "  The 
Lass  I  left  behind  me ;  "  while  through  the  flaring  lat- 
tices of  the  Spanish  ventas  come  the  clatter  of  castanets 
and  the  jingle  and  moan  of  Spanish  guitars  and  ditties. 
It  is  a  curious  sight  at  evening  this  thronged  street,  with 
the  people,  in  a  hundred  different  costumes,  bustling  to 
and  fro  under  the  coarse  flare  of  the  lamps;  swarthy 
Moors,  in  white  or  crimson  robes;  dark  Spanish  smug- 
glers in  tufted  hats,  with  gay  silk  handkerchiefs  round 
their  heads;  fuddled  seamen  from  men-of-war,  or  mer- 
chantmen; porters,  Gallician  or  Genoese;  and  at  every 
few  minutes'  interval,  little  squads  of  soldiers  tramping 
to  relieve  guard  at  some  one  of  the  innumerable  posts  in 
the  town. 

296 


CLUB-HOUSE  GOSSIP  297 

Some  of  our  party  went  to  a  Spanish  venta,  as  a  more 
convenient  or  romantic  place  of  residence  than  an  Eng- 
lish house ;  others  made  choice  of  the  cluL-house  in  Com- 
mercial Square,  of  which  I  formed  an  agreeable  picture 
in  my  imagination;  rather,  perhaps,  resembling  the 
Junior  United  Service  Club  in  Charles  Street,  by  which 
every  Londoner  has  passed  ere  this  with  respectful  plea- 
sure, catching  glimpses  of  magnificent  blazing  candela- 
bra, under  which  sit  neat  half -pay  officers,  drinking 
half -pints  of  port.  The  club-house  of  Gibraltar  is  not, 
however,  of  the  Charles  Street  sort;  it  may  have  been 
cheerful  once,  and  there  are  yet  relics  of  splendour  about 
it.  When  officers  wore  pigtails,  and  in  the  time  of  Gov- 
ernor O'Hara,  it  may  have  been  a  handsome  place;  but 
it  is  mouldy  and  decrepit  now;  and  though  his  Excel- 
lency, INIr.  Bulwer,  was  living  there,  and  made  no  com- 
plaints that  I  heard  of,  other  less  distinguished  persons 
thought  they  had  reason  to  grumble.  Indeed,  what  is 
travelling  made  of?  At  least  half  its  pleasures  and  in- 
cidents come  out  of  inns;  and  of  them  the  tourist  can 
speak  with  much  more  truth  and  vivacity  than  of 
historical  recollections  compiled  out  of  histories,  or 
filched  out  of  handbooks.  But  to  speak  of  the  best  inn 
in  a  place  needs  no  apology;  that,  at  least,  is  useful 
information;  as  every  person  intending  to  visit  Gibraltar 
cannot  have  seen  the  flea-bitten  countenances  of  our  com- 
panions, who  fled  from  their  Spanish  venta  to  take 
refuge  at  the  club  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  they 
may  surely  be  thankful  for  being  directed  to  the  best 
house  of  accommodation  in  one  of  the  most  unromantic, 
uncomfortable,  and  prosaic  of  towns. 

If  one  had  a  right  to  break  the  sacred  confidence  of  the 
mahogany,  I  could  entertain  you  with  many  queer  stories 


298  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

of  Gibraltar  life,  gathered  from  the  lips  of  the  gentle- 
men who  enjoyed  themselves  round  the  dingy  tablecloth 
of  the  club-house  coiFee-room,  richly  decorated  with  cold 
gravy  and  spilt  beer.  I  heard  there  the  very  names 
of  the  gentlemen  who  wrote  the  famous  letters  from 
the  *'  Warspite  "  regarding  the  French  proceedings  at 
'  Mogador ;  and  met  several  refugee  Jews  from  that  place, 
who  said  that  they  were  much  more  afraid  of  the  Kabyles 
without  the  city  than  of  the  guns  of  the  French  squad- 
ron, of  which  they  seemed  to  make  rather  light.  I  heard 
the  last  odds  on  the  ensuing  match  between  Captain 
Smith's  b.  g.  Bolter,  and  Captain  Brown's  ch.  c.  Roarer: 
how  the  gun-room  of  her  Majesty's  ship  "  Purgatory  " 
had  "cobbed"  a  tradesman  of  the  town,  and  of  the  row  in 
consequence.  I  heard  capital  stories  of  the  way  in  which 
Wilkins  had  escaped  the  guard,  and  Thompson  had  been 
locked  up  among  the  mosquitoes  for  being  out  after  ten 
without  the  lantern.  I  heard  how  the  governor  was  an 
old  ,  but  to  say  what,  Avould  be  breaking  a  confi- 
dence; only  this  may  be  divulged,  that  the  epithet  was 
exceedingly  complimentary  to  Sir  Robert  Wilson.  All 
the  while  these  conversations  were  going  on,  a  strange 
scene  of  noise  and  bustle  was  passing  in  the  market- 
place, in  front  of  the  window,  where  Moors,  Jews,  Span- 
iards, soldiers  were  thronging  in  the  sun ;  and  a  ragged 
fat  fellow,  mounted  on  a  tobacco-barrel  with  his  hat 
cocked  on  his  ear,  was  holding  an  auction,  and  roaring 
with  an  energy  and  impudence  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  Covent  Garden. 

The  Moorish  castle  is  the  only  building  about  the  Rock 
which  has  an  air  at  all  picturesque  or  romantic ;  there  is  a 
plain  Roman  Catholic  cathedral,  a  hideous  new  Protes- 
tant church  of  the  cigar-divan  architecture,  and  a  Court- 


GIBRALTAR  299 

house  with  a  portico  which  is  said  to  be  an  imitation  of 
the  Parthenon :  the  ancient  rehgious  houses  of  the  Span- 
ish town  are  gone,  or  turned  into  mihtary  residences,  and 
marked  so  that  you  would  never  know  their  former  pious 
destination.  You  walk  through  narrow  whitewashed 
lanes,  bearing  such  martial  names  as  are  before  men- 
tioned, and  by-streets  with  barracks  on  either  side :  small 
Newgate-like  looking  buildings,  at  the  doors  of  which 
you  may  see  the  sergeants'  ladies  conversing;  or  at  the 
open  windows  of  the  officers'  quarters.  Ensign  Fipps 
lying  on  his  sofa  and  smoking  his  cigar,  or  Lieutenant 
Simson  practising  the  flute  to  while  away  the  weary 
hours  of  garrison  dulness.  I  was  surprised  not  to  find 
more  persons  in  the  garrison  library,  where  is  a  mag- 
nificent reading-room,  and  an  admirable  collection  of 
books. 

In  spite  of  the  scanty  herbage  and  the  dust  on  the 
trees,  the  Alameda  is  a  beautiful  walk ;  of  which  the  vege- 
tation has  been  as  laboriously  cared  for  as  the  tremen- 
dous fortifications  which  flank  it  on  either  side.  The 
vast  Rock  rises  on  one  side  with  its  interminable  works 
of  defence,  and  Gibraltar  Bay  is  shining  on  the  other, 
out  on  which  from  the  terraces  immense  cannon  are  per- 
petually looking,  surrounded  by  plantations  of  cannon- 
balls  and  beds  of  bomb-shells,  sufficient,  one  would  think, 
to  blow  away  the  whole  Peninsula.  The  horticultural 
and  military  mixture  is  indeed  very  queer :  here  and  there 
temples,  rustic  summer-seats,  &c.  have  been  erected  in  the 
garden,  but  you  are  sure  to  see  a  great  squat  mortar  look 
up  from  among  the  flower-pots:  and  amidst  the  aloes 
and  geraniums  sprouts  the  green  petticoat  and  scarlet 
coat  of  a  Highlander.  Fatigue-parties  are  seen  winding 
up  the  hill,  and  busy  about  the  endless  cannon-ball  plan- 


300  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

tations ;  awkward  squads  are  drilling  in  the  open  spaces : 
sentries  marching  everywhere,  and  (this  is  a  caution  to 
artists)  I  am  told  have  orders  to  run  any  man  through 
who  is  discovered  making  a  sketch  of  the  place.  It  is  al- 
ways beautiful,  especially  at  evening,  when  the  people 
are  sauntering  along  the  walks,  and  the  moon  is  shining 
on  the  waters  of  the  bay  and  the  hills  and  twinkling 
white  houses  of  the  opposite  shore.  Then  the  place  be- 
comes quite  romantic :  it  is  too  dark  to  see  the  dust  on  the 
dried  leaves;  the  cannon-balls  do  not  intrude  too  much, 
but  have  subsided  into  the  shade;  the  awkward  squads 
are  in  bed;  even  the  loungers  are  gone,  the  fan-flirting 
S23anish  ladies,  the  sallow  black-eyed  children,  and  the 
trim  white- jacketed  dandies.  A  fife  is  heard  from  some 
craft  at  roost  on  the  quiet  waters  somewhere;  or  a  faint 
cheer  from  yonder  black  steamer  at  the  ^lole,  which  is 
about  to  set  out  on  some  night  expedition.  You  forget 
that  the  town  is  at  all  like  Wapping,  and  deliver  yourself 
up  entirely  to  romance;  the  sentries  look  noble  pacing 
there,  silent  in  the  moonlight,  and  Sandy's  voice  is  quite 
musical  as  he  challenges  with  a  "  Who  goes  there?  " 

"  All's  Well  "  is  very  pleasant  when  sung  decently  in 
tune,  and  inspires  noble  and  poetic  ideas  of  duty,  cour- 
age, and  danger:  but  when  you  hear  it  shouted  all  the 
night  through,  accompanied  by  a  clapping  of  muskets  in 
a  time  of  profound  peace,  the  sentinel's  cry  becomes  no 
more  romantic  to  the  hearer  than  it  is  to  the  sandy  Con- 
naught-man  or  the  barelegged  Highlander  who  delivers 
it.  It  is  best  to  read  about  wars  comfortably  in  Harry 
Lorrequer  or  Scott's  novels,  in  which  knights  shout  their 
war-cries,  and  jovial  Irish  bayoneteers  hurrah,  without 
depriving  you  of  any  blessed  rest.  Men  of  a  different 
way  of  thinking,  however,  can  suit  themselves  perfectly 


"ALL'S  WELL"  301 

at  Gibraltar;  where  there  is  marching  and  counter- 
marching, challenging  and  relieving  guard  all  the  night 
through.  And  not  here  in  Commercial  Square  alone, 
but  all  over  the  huge  Rock  in  the  darkness— all  through 
the  mysterious  zigzags,  and  round  the  dark  cannon-ball 
pyramids,  and  along  the  vast  rock-galleries,  and  up  to 
the  topmost  flagstaff,  where  the  sentry  can  look  out  over 
two  seas,  poor  fellows  are  marching  and  clapping  mus- 
kets, and  crying  "All's  well,"  dressed  in  cap  and  feather, 
in  place  of  honest  nightcaps  best  befitting  the  decent 
hours  of  sleep. 

All  these  martial  noises  three  of  us  heard  to  the  utmost 
advantage,  lying  on  iron  bedsteads  at  the  time  in  a 
cracked  old  room  on  the  ground-floor,  the  open  windows 
of  which  looked  into  the  square.  No  spot  could  be  more 
favourably  selected  for  watching  the  humours  of  a  gar- 
rison-town by  night.  About  midnight,  the  door  hard  by 
us  was  visited  by  a  party  of  young  officers,  who  having 
had  quite  as  much  drink  as  was  good  for  them,  were 
naturally  inclined  for  more;  and  when  we  remonstrated 
through  the  windows,  one  of  them  in  a  young  tipsy  voice 
asked  after  our  mothers,  and  finally  reeled  away.  How 
charming  is  the  conversation  of  high-spirited  youth!  I 
don't  know  whether  the  guard  got  hold  of  them :  but  cer- 
tainly if  a  civilian  had  been  hiccuping  through  the  streets 
at  that  hour  he  would  have  been  carried  off  to  the  guard- 
house, and  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  mosquitoes  there,  and 
had  up  before  the  Governor  in  the  morning.  The  young 
man  in  the  coffee-room  tells  me  he  goes  to  sleep  every 
night  with  the  keys  of  Gibraltar  under  his  pillow.  It 
is  an  awful  image,  and  somehow  completes  the  notion  of 
the  slumbering  fortress.  Fancy  Sir  Robert  Wilson,  his 
nose  just  visible  over  the  sheets,  his  nightcap  and  the 


302  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

huge  key  (you  see  the  very  identical  one  in  Reynolds' 
portrait  of  Lord  Heathfield)  peeping  out  from  under 
the  bolster ! 

If  I  entertain  you  with  accounts  of  inns  and  nightcaps 
it  is  because  I  am  more  familiar  with  these  subjects  than 
with  history  and  fortifications:  as  far  as  I  can  under- 
stand the  former,  Gibraltar  is  the  great  British  depot  for 
smuggling  goods  into  the  Peninsula.  You  see  vessels 
lying  in  the  harbour,  and  are  told  in  so  many  words  they 
are  smugglers ;  all  those  smart  Spaniards  with  cigar  and 
mantles  are  smugglers,  and  run  tobaccos  and  cotton  into 
Catalonia;  all  the  respected  merchants  of  the  place  are 
smugglers.  The  other  day  a  Spanish  revenue  vessel  was 
shot  to  death  under  the  thundering  great  guns  of  the 
fort,  for  neglecting  to  bring  to,  but  it  so  happened  that 
it  was  in  chase  of  a  smuggler ;  in  this  little  corner  of  her 
dominions  Britain  proclaims  war  to  custom-houses,  and 
protection  to  free  trade.  Perhaps  ere  a  very  long  day, 
England  may  be  acting  that  part  towards  the  world, 
which  Gibraltar  performs  towards  Spain  now;  and  the 
last  war  in  which  we  shall  ever  engage  may  be  a  custom- 
house war.  For  once  establish  railroads  and  abolish  pre- 
ventive duties  through  Europe,  and  what  is  there  left  to 
fight  for?  It  will  matter  very  httle  then  under  what 
flag  people  live,  and  foreign  ministers  and  ambassadors 
may  enjoy  a  dignified  sinecure;  the  army  will  rise  to  the 
rank  of  peaceful  constables,  not  having  any  more  use  for 
their  bayonets  than  those  worthy  people  have  for  their 
weapons  now  who  accompany  the  law  at  assizes  under 
the  name  of  javelin-men.  The  apparatus  of  bombs  and 
eighty-four-pounders  may  disappear  from  the  Alameda, 
and  the  crops  of  cannon-balls  which  now  grow  there  may 


A  RELEASE  303 

give  place  to  other  plants  more  pleasant  to  the  eye;  and 
the  great  key  of  Gibraltar  may  be  left  in  the  gate  for 
anybody  to  turn  at  will,  and  Sir  Robert  Wilson  may 
sleep  at  quiet. 

I  am  afraid  I  thought  it  was  rather  a  release,  when, 
having  made  up  our  minds  to  examine  the  Rock  in  detail 
and  view  the  magnificent  excavations  and  galleries,  the 
admiration  of  all  military  men,  and  the  terror  of  any 
enemies  who  may  attack  the  fortress,  we  received  orders 
to  embark  forthwith  in  the  "  Tagus,"  which  was  to  carry 
us  to  Malta  and  Constantinople.  So  we  took  leave  of 
this  famous  Rock — this  great  blunderbuss — which  we 
seized  out  of  the  hands  of  the  natural  owners  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago,  and  which  we  have  kept  ever  since 
tremendously  loaded  and  cleaned  and  ready  for  use.  To 
seize  and  have  it  is  doubtless  a  gallant  thing ;  it  is  like  one 
of  those  tests  of  courage  which  one  reads  of  in  the  chival- 
rous romances,  when,  for  instance.  Sir  Huon  of  Bor- 
deaux is  called  upon  to  prove  his  knighthood  by  going  to 
Babjdon  and  pulling  out  the  Sultan's  beard  and  front 
teeth  in  the  midst  of  his  court  there.  But,  after  all,  jus- 
tice must  confess  it  was  rather  hard  on  the  poor  Sul- 
tan. If  we  had  the  Spaniards  established  at  Land's  End, 
with  impregnable  Spanish  fortifications  on  St.  IMichael's 
Mount,  we  should  perhaps  come  to  the  same  conclusion. 
Meanwhile  let  us  hope,  during  this  long  period  of  dep- 
rivation, the  Sultan  of  Spain  is  reconciled  to  the  loss  of 
his  front  teeth  and  bristling  whiskers — let  us  even  try  to 
think  that  he  is  better  without  them.  At  all  events,  right 
or  wrong,  whatever  may  be  our  title  to  the  property, 
there  is  no  Englishman  but  must  think  with  pride  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  countrymen  have  kept  it,  and  of  the 
courage,  endurance,  and  sense  of  duty  with  which  stout 


304  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

old  Eliot  and  his  companions  resisted  Crillion  and  the 
Spanish  battering  ships  and  his  fifty  thousand  men. 
There  seems  to  be  something  more  noble  in  the  success 
of  a  gallant  resistance  than  of  an  attack,  however  brave. 
After  failing  in  his  attack  on  the  fort,  the  French  Gen- 
eral visited  the  English  Commander  who  had  foiled  him, 
and  parted  from  him  and  his  garrison  in  perfect  polite- 
ness and  good  humour.  The  English  troops.  Drink- 
water  says,  gave  him  thundering  cheers  as  he  went 
away,  and  the  French  in  return  complimented  us  on  our 
gallantry,  and  lauded  the  humanity  of  our  people.  If 
we  are  to  go  on  murdering  each  other  in  the  old-fash- 
ioned way,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  our  battles  cannot  end 
in  the  old-fashioned  way  too. 

One  of  our  fellow-travellers,  who  had  written  a  book, 
and  had  suffered  considerably  from  sea-sickness  during 
our  passage  along  the  coasts  of  France  and  Spain,  con- 
soled us  all  by  saying  that  the  very  minute  we  got  into 
the  Mediterranean  we  might  consider  ourselves  entirely 
free  from  illness ;  and,  in  fact,  that  it  was  unheard  of  in 
the  Inland  Sea.  Even  in  the  Bay  of  Gibraltar  the  water 
looked  bluer  than  anj^thing  I  have  ever  seen — except 
Miss  Smith's  eyes.  I  thought,  somehow,  the  delicious 
faultless  azure  never  could  look  angry — just  like  the 
eyes  before  alluded  to— and  under  this  assurance  we 
passed  the  Strait,  and  began  coasting  the  African  shore 
calmly  and  without  the  least  apprehension,  as  if  we  were 
as  much  used  to  the  tempest  as  INIr.  T.  P.  Cooke. 

But  when,  in  spite  of  the  promise  of  the  man  who  had 
written  the  book,  we  found  ourselves  w^orse  than  in  the 
worst  part  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  or  off  the  storm-lashed 
rocks  of  Finisterre,  we  set  down  the  author  in  question 
as  a  gross  impostor,  and  had  a  mind  to  quarrel  with  him 


VALETTA  305 

for  leading  us  into  this  cruel  error.  The  most  provoking 
part  of  the  matter,  too,  was,  that  the  sky  was  deliciousl}^ 
clear  and  cloudless,  the  air  balmy,  the  sea  so  insultingly 
blue  that  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  no  right  to  be  ill  at  all, 
and  that  the  innumerable  little  waves  that  frisked  round 
about  our  keel  were  enjoying  an  anerithmon  gelasina 
(this  is  one  of  my  four  Greek  quotations:  depend  on  it, 
I  will  manage  to  introduce  the  other  three  before  the 
tour  is  done)  — seemed  to  be  enjoying,  I  say,  the  above- 
named  Greek  quotation  at  our  expense.  Here  is  the  dis- 
mal log  of  Wednesday,  4th  of  September: — "All  at- 
tempts at  dining  very  fruitless.  Basins  in  requisition. 
Wind  hard  ahead.  Que  dicible  allais-je  faire  dans  cctte 
galere?  Writing  or  thinking  impossible:  so  read  letters 
from  the  ^gean."  These  brief  words  give,  I  think,  a 
complete  idea  of  wretchedness,  despair,  remorse,  and 
prostration  of  soul  and  body.  Two  days  previously  we 
passed  the  forts  and  moles  and  yellow  buildings  of  Al- 
giers, rising  very  stately  from  the  sea,  and  skirted  by 
gloomy  purple  lines  of  African  shore,  with  fires  smoking 
in  the  mountains,  and  lonelv  settlements  here  and  there. 
On  the  5th,  to  the  inexpressible  joy  of  all,  we  reached 
Valetta,  the  entrance  to  the  harbour  of  which  is  one  of 
the  most  stately  and  agreeable  scenes  ever  admired  by 
sea-sick  traveller.  The  small  basin  was  busy  with  a  hun- 
dred ships,  from  the  huge  guard-ship,  which  lies  there  a 
city  in  itself; — merchantmen  loading  and  crews  cheer- 
ing, under  all  the  flags  of  the  world  flaunting  in  the  sun- 
shine; a  half -score  of  busy  black  steamers  perpetually 
coming  and  going,  coaling  and  painting,  and  puffing 
and  hissing  in  and  out  of  harbour;  slim  men-of-war's 
barges  shooting  to  and  fro,  with  long  shining  oars  flash- 
ing like  wings  over  the  water ;  hundreds  of  painted  town- 


306  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

boats,  with  high  heads  and  white  awnings, — down  to  the 
Httle  tubs  in  which  some  naked,  tawny  young  beggars 
came  paddhng  up  to  the  steamer,  entreating  us  to  let 
them  dive  for  halfpence.  Round  this  busy  blue  water 
rise  rocks,  blazing  in  sunshine,  and  covered  with  every 
imaginable  device  of  fortification ;  to  the  right,  St.  Elmo, 
with  flag  and  lighthouse;  and  ojjposite,  the  Military 
Hospital,  looking  like  a  palace ;  and  all  round,  the  houses 
of  the  city,  for  its  size  the  handsomest  and  most  stately 
in  the  world. 

Nor  does  it  disappoint  you  on  a  closer  inspection,  as 
many  a  foreign  town  does.  The  streets  are  thronged 
with  a  lively,  comfortable-looking  population;  the  poor 
seem  to  inhabit  handsome  stone  palaces,  with  balconies 
and  projecting  windows  of  heavy  carved  stone.  The 
lights  and  shadows,  the  cries  and  stenches,  the  fruit-shops 
and  fish-stalls,  the  dresses  and  chatter  of  all  nations ;  the 
soldiers  in  scarlet,  and  women  in  black  mantillas;  the 
beggars,  boatmen,  barrels  of  pickled  herrings  and  mac- 
aroni; the  shovel-hatted  priests  and  bearded  capuchins; 
the  tobacco,  grapes,  onions,  and  sunshine;  the  sign- 
boards, bottled-porter  stores,  the  statues  of  saints  and 
little  chapels  which  jostle  the  stranger's  eyes  as  he  goes 
up  the  famous  stairs  from  the  Water-gate,  make  a  scene 
of  such  pleasant  confusion  and  liveliness  as  I  have  never 
witnessed  before.  And  the  effects  of  the  groups  of  mul- 
titudinous actors  in  this  busy,  cheerful  drama  is  height- 
ened, as  it  were,  bj^  the  decorations  of  the  stage.  The 
sky  is  delightfully  brilliant ;  all  the  houses  and  ornaments 
are  stately ;  castles  and  palaces  are  rising  all  around ;  and 
the  flag,  towers,  and  walls  of  Fort  St.  Elmo  look  as 
fresh  and  magnificent  as  if  they  had  been  erected  only 
yesterday. 


VALETTA  307 

The  Strada  Reale  has  a  much  more  courtly  appear- 
ance than  that  one  described.  Here  are  palaces, 
churches,  court-houses  and  libraries,  the  genteel  London 
shops,  and  the  latest  articles  of  perfumery.  Gay  young 
officers  are  strolling  about  in  shell- jackets  mucli  too  small 
for  them :  midshipmen  are  clattering  by  on  hired  horses ; 
squads  of  priests,  habited  after  the  fashion  of  Don  Ba- 
silio  in  the  opera,  are  demurely  pacing  to  and  fro ;  pro- 
fessional beggars  run  shrieking  after  the  stranger;  and 
agents  for  horses,  for  inns,  and  for  worse  places  still, 
follow  him  and  insinuate  the  excellence  of  their  goods. 
The  houses  where  they  are  selling  carpet-bags  and  po- 
matum were  the  palaces  of  the  successors  of  the  goodliest 
company  of  gallant  knights  the  world  ever  heard  tell  of. 
It  seems  unromantic;  but  these  were  not  the  romantic 
Knights  of  St.  John.  The  heroic  days  of  the  Order 
ended  as  the  last  Turkish  galley  lifted  anchor  after  the 
memorable  siege.  The  present  stately  houses  were  built 
in  times  of  peace  and  splendour  and  decay.  I  doubt 
whether  the  Auberge  de  Provence,  where  the  "  Union 
Club  "  flourishes  now,  has  ever  seen  anything  more  ro- 
mantic than  the  pleasant  balls  held  in  the  great  room 
there. 

The  Church  of  Saint  John,  not  a  handsome  structure 
without,  is  magnificent  within :  a  noble  hall  covered  with 
a  rich  embroidery  of  gilded  carving,  the  chapels  of  the 
diff'erent  nations  on  either  side,  but  not  interfering  with 
the  main  structure,  of  which  the  whole  is  simple,  and  the 
details  only  splendid ;  it  seemed  to  me  a  fitting  place  for 
this  wealthy  body  of  aristocratic  soldiers,  who  made  their 
devotions  as  it  were  on  parade,  and,  though  on  their 
knees,  never  forgot  their  epaulets  or  their  quarters  of 
nobility.     This  mixture  of  religion  and  worldly  pride 


308  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

seems  incongruous  at  first ;  but  have  we  not  at  church  at 
home  similar  reHcs  of  feudal  ceremony?— the  verger 
with  the  silver  mace  who  precedes  the  vicar  to  the  desk ; 
the  two  chaplains  of  my  lord  archbishop,  who  bow  over 
his  grace  as  he  enters  the  communion-table  gate;  even 
poor  John,  who  follows  my  lady  with  a  coroneted  prayer- 
book,  and  makes  his  conge  as  he  hands  it  into  the  pew. 
What  a  chivalrous  absurdity  is  the  banner  of  some  high 
and  mighty  prince,  hanging  over  his  stall  in  Windsor 
Chapel,  when  you  think  of  the  purpose  for  which  men 
are  supposed  to  assemble  there!  The  Church  of  the 
Knights  of  St.  John  is  paved  over  with  sprawling  heral- 
dic devices  of  the  dead  gentlemen  of  the  dead  Order;  as 
if,  in  the  next  world,  they  expected  to  take  rank  in  con- 
formity with  their  pedigrees,  and  would  be  marshalled 
into  heaven  according  to  the  orders  of  precedence. 
Cumbrous  handsome  paintings  adorn  the  walls  and 
chapels,  decorated  with  pompous  monuments  of  Grand 
JNIasters.  Beneath  is  a  crypt,  where  more  of  these  hon- 
ourable and  reverend  warriors  lie,  in  a  state  that  a  Simp- 
son would  admire.  In  the  altar  are  said  to  lie  three  of 
the  most  gallant  relics  in  the  world:  the  kej^s  of  Acre, 
Rhodes,  and  Jerusalem.  What  blood  was  shed  in  de- 
fending these  emblems !  What  faith,  endurance,  genius, 
and  generosity ;  what  pride,  hatred,  ambition,  and  savage 
lust  of  blood  were  roused  together  for  their  guardian- 
ship ! 

In  the  lofty  lialls  and  corridors  of  the  Governor's 
house,  some  portraits  of  the  late  Grand  Masters  still 
remain:  a  very  fine  one,  by  Caravaggio,  of  a  knight  in 
gilt  armour,  liangs  in  the  dining-room,  near  a  full-length 
of  poor  Louis  XVI.,  in  royal  robes,  the  very  picture  of 
uneasy  impotency.     But  the  portrait  of  De  Vignacourt 


MALTA  RELICS  309 

is  the  only  one  which  has  a  respectable  air;  the  other 
chiefs  of  the  famous  society  are  pompous  old  gentlemen 
in  black,  with  huge  periwigs,  and  crowns  round  their 
hats,  and  a  couple  of  melancholy  pages  in  yellow  and 
red.  But  pages  and  wigs  and  Grand  JNIasters  have  al- 
most faded  out  of  the  canvas,  and  are  vanishing  into 
Hades  with  a  most  melancholy  indistinctness.  The 
names  of  most  of  these  gentlemen,  however,  live  as  j^et 
in  the  forts  of  the  j)lace,  which  all  seem  to  have  been 
eager  to  build  and  christen :  so  that  it  seems  as  if,  in  the 
Malta  mythology,  they  had  been  turned  into  freestone. 

In  the  armoury  is  the  very  suit  painted  by  Caravaggio, 
by  the  side  of  the  armour  of  the  noble  old  La  Valette, 
whose  heroism  saved  his  island  from  the  efforts  of  IMus- 
tapha  and  Dragut,  and  an  army  quite  as  fierce  and  nu- 
merous as  that  which  was  baffled  before  Gibraltar,  by 
similar  courage  and  resolution.  The  sword  of  the  last- 
named  famous  corsair  (a  most  truculent  little  scimitar), 
thousands  of  pikes  and  halberts,  little  old  cannons  and 
wall-pieces,  helmets  and  cuirasses,  which  the  knights  or 
their  people  wore,  are  trimly  arranged  against  the  wall, 
and,  instead  of  spiking  Turks  or  arming  warriors,  now 
serve  to  point  morals  and  adorn  tales.  And  here  likewise 
are  kept  many  thousand  muskets,  swords,  and  boarding- 
pikes  for  daily  use,  and  a  couple  of  ragged  old  standards 
of  one  of  the  English  regiments,  who  pursued  and  con- 
quered in  Egypt  the  remains  of  the  haughty  and  famous 
French  republican  army,  at  whose  appearance  the  last 
knights  of  INIalta  flung  open  the  gates  of  all  their  for- 
tresses, and  consented  to  be  extinguished  without  so 
much  as  a  remonstrance,  or  a  kick,  or  a  struggle. 

We  took  a  drive  into  what  may  be  called  the  country ; 
where  the  fields  are  rocks,  and  the  hedges  are  stones— 


310  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

passing  by  the  stone  gardens  of  the  Florian,  and  won- 
dering at  the  number  and  handsomeness  of  the  stone  vil- 
lages and  churches  rising  everywhere  among  the  stony 
hills.  Handsome  villas  were  passed  everywhere,  and  we 
drove  for  a  long  distance  along  the  sides  of  an  aqueduct, 
quite  a  royal  work  of  the  Caravaggio  in  gold  armour,  the 
Grand  Master  De  Vignacourt.  A  most  agreeable  con- 
trast to  the  arid  rocks  of  the  general  scenery  was  the  gar- 
den at  the  Governor's  country-house;  with  the  orange- 
trees  and  water,  its  beautiful  golden  grapes,  luxuriant 
flowers,  and  thick  cool  shrubberies.  The  eye  longs  for 
this  sort  of  refreshment,  after  being  seared  with  the  hot 
glare  of  the  general  country;  and  St.  Antonio  was  as 
pleasant  after  JNIalta  as  Malta  was  after  the  sea. 

We  paid  the  island  a  subsequent  visit  in  November, 
passing  seventeen  days  at  an  establishment  called  Fort 
Manuel  there,  and  by  punsters  the  Manuel  des  Voya- 
geurs ;  where  Government  accommodates  you  with  quar- 
ters ;  where  the  authorities  are  so  attentive  as  to  scent  your 
letters  with  aromatic  vinegar  before  you  receive  them, 
and  so  careful  of  your  health  as  to  lock  you  up  in  your 
room  every  night  lest  you  should  walk  in  your  sleep,  and 
so  over  the  battlements  into  the  sea :  if  you  escaped  drown- 
ing in  the  sea,  the  sentries  on  the  opposite  shore  would 
fire  at  you,  hence  the  nature  of  the  precaution.  To  drop, 
however,  this  satirical  strain :  those  who  know  what  quar- 
antine is,  may  fancy  that  the  place  somehow  becomes  un- 
bearable in  which  it  has  been  endured.  And  though  the 
November  climate  of  Malta  is  like  the  most  delicious 
May  in  England,  and  though  there  is  every  gaiety  and 
amusement  in  the  town,  a  comfortable  little  opera,  a 
good  old  Hbrary  filled  full  of  good  old  books  (none  of 
your  works  of  modern  science,  travel,  and  histor^^  but 


DEATH  IN  THE  LAZARETTO         311 

good  old  useless  books  of  the  last  two  centuries) ,  and  no- 
body to  trouble  you  in  reading  them,  and  though  the 
society  of  Valetta  is  most  hospitable,  varied,  and  agree- 
able, yet  somehow  one  did  not  feel  safe  in  the  island,  with 
perpetual  glimpses  of  Fort  Manuel  from  the  opposite 
shore;  and,  lest  the  quarantine  authorities  should  have 
a  fancy  to  fetch  one  back  again,  on  a  pretext  of  posthu- 
mous plague,  we  made  our  way  to  Naples  by  the  very 
first  opportunity — those  who  remained,  that  is,  of  the 
little  Eastern  expedition.  They  were  not  all  there.  The 
Giver  of  life  and  death  had  removed  two  of  our  com- 
pany :  one  was  left  behind  to  die  in  Egypt,  with  a  mother 
to  bewail  his  loss ;  another  we  buried  in  the  dismal  laza- 
retto cemetery. 

*-tt  ^  4lt  4it 

r^  #!>  tf|%  0^ 

One  is  bound  to  look  at  this,  too,  as  a  part  of  our  jour- 
ney. Disease  and  death  are  knocking  perhaps  at  your 
next  cabin  door.  Your  kind  and  cheery  companion  has 
ridden  his  last  ride  and  emptied  his  last  glass  beside  you. 
And  while  fond  hearts  are  yearning  for  him  far  away, 
and  his  own  mind,  if  conscious,  is  turning  eagerly  to- 
wards the  spot  of  the  world  whither  affection  or  interest 
calls  it — the  Great  Father  summons  the  anxious  spirit 
from  earth  to  himself,  and  ordains  that  the  nearest  and 
dearest  shall  meet  here  no  more. 

Such  an  occurrence  as  a  death  in  a  lazaretto,  mere  self- 
ishness renders  striking.  We  were  walking  with  him 
but  two  days  ago  on  deck.  One  has  a  sketch  of  him,  an- 
other his  card,  with  the  address  written  yesterday,  and 
given  with  an  invitation  to  come  and  see  him  at  home  in 
the  country,  where  his  children  are  looking  for  him.  He 
is  dead  in  a  day,  and  buried  in  the  walls  of  the  prison.  A 
doctor  felt  his  pulse  by  deputy — a  clergyman  comes 


312  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

from  the  town  to  read  the  last  service  over  him— and  the 
friends,  who  attend  his  funeral,  are  marshalled  by  laza- 
retto-guardians, so  as  not  to  touch  each  other.  Every 
man  goes  back  to  his  room  and  applies  the  lesson  to  him- 
self. One  would  not  so  depart  without  seeing  again  the 
dear,  dear  faces.  We  reckon  up  those  we  love :  they  are 
but  very  few,  but  I  think  one  loves  them  better  than  ever 
now.  Should  it  be  your  turn  next?— and  why  not?  Is 
it  23ity  or  comfort  to  think  of  that  affection  which 
watches  and  survives  you? 

The  Maker  has  linked  together  the  whole  race  of  man 
with  this  chain  of  love.  I  like  to  think  that  there  is  no 
man  but  has  had  kindly  feelings  for  some  other,  and  he 
for  his  neighbour,  until  we  bind  together  the  whole  fam- 
ily of  Adam.  Nor  does  it  end  here.  It  joins  heaven  and 
earth  together.  For  my  friend  or  my  child  of  past  days 
is  still  my  friend  or  my  child  to  me  here,  or  in  the  home 
prepared  for  us  by  the  Father  of  all.  If  identity  sur- 
vives the  grave,  as  our  faith  tells  us,  is  it  not  a  consolation 
to  think  that  there  may  be  one  or  two  souls  among  the 
purified  and  just,  whose  affection  watches  us  invisible, 
and  follows  the  poor  sinner  on  earth  ? 


CHAPTER  V 

ATHENS 

NOT  feeling  any  enthusiasm  myself  about  Athens, 
my  bounden  duty  of  course  is  clear,  to  sneer  and 
laugh  heartily  at  all  who  have.  In  fact,  what  business 
has  a  lawyer,  who  was  in  Pump  Court  this  day  three 
weeks,  and  whose  common  reading  is  law  reports  or  the 
newspaper,  to  pretend  to  fall  in  love  for  the  long  vaca- 
tion with  mere  poetry,  of  which  I  swear  a  great  deal  is 
very  doubtful,  and  to  get  up  an  enthusiasm  quite  foreign 
to  his  nature  and  usual  calling  in  life?  What  call  have 
ladies  to  consider  Greece  "  romantic,"  they  who  get  their 
notions  of  mythology  from  the  well-known  pages  of 
"  Tooke's  Pantheon? "  What  is  the  reason  that  blun- 
dering Yorkshire  squires,  young  dandies  from  Corfu 
regiments,  jolly  sailors  from  ships  in  the  harbour,  and 
yellow  old  Indians  returning  from  Bundelcund,  should 
think  proper  to  be  enthusiastic  about  a  coimtrj^  of  which 
they  know  nothing;  the  mere  physical  beauty  of  which 
they  cannot,  for  the  most  part,  comprehend ;  and  because 
certain  characters  lived  in  it  two  thousand  four  hundred 
years  ago?  What  have  these  people  in  common  with 
Pericles,  what  have  these  ladies  in  common  with  Aspasia 
(O  fie!)  ?  Of  the  race  of  Englishmen  who  come  won- 
dering about  the  tomb  of  Socrates,  do  you  think  the  ma- 
jority would  not  have  voted  to  hemlock  him?  Yes:  for 
the  very  same  superstition  which  leads  men  by  the  nose 

313 


314  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

now,  drove  them  onward  in  the  days  when  the  lowly  hus- 
band of  Xantippe  died  for  daring  to  think  simply  and  to 
speak  the  truth.  I  know  of  no  quality  more  magnificent 
in  fools  than  their  faith :  that  perfect  consciousness  they 
have,  that  they  are  doing  virtuous  and  meritorious  ac- 
tions, when  they  are  performing  acts  of  folly,  murdering 
Socrates,  or  pelting  Aristides  with  holy  oyster-shells,  all 
for  Virtue's  sake;  and  a  "  History  of  Dulness  in  all  Ages 
of  the  World,"  is  a  book  which  a  philosopher  would 
surely  be  hanged,  but  as  certainly  blessed,  for  writing. 

If  j)apa  and  mamma  (honour  be  to  them!)  had  not 
followed  the  faith  of  their  fathers,  and  thought  proper 
to  send  away  their  only  beloved  son  (afterwards  to  be 
celebrated  under  the  name  of  Titmarsh)  into  ten  years' 
banishment  of  infernal  miserj^,  tyranny,  annoyance;  to 
give  over  the  fresh  feelings  of  the  heart  of  the  little  Mi- 
chael Angelo  to  the  discipline  of  vulgar  bullies,  who,  in 
order  to  lead  tender  young  children  to  the  Temple  of 
Learning  (as  they  do  in  the  spelling-books),  drive  them 
on  with  clenched  fists  and  low  abuse ;  if  they  fainted,  re- 
vived them  with  a  thump,  or  assailed  them  with  a  curse ; 
if  they  were  miserable,  consoled  them  with  a  brutal  jeer 
— if,  I  say,  my  dear  parents,  instead  of  giving  me  the 
inestimable  benefit  of  a  ten  years'  classical  education, 
had  kept  me  at  home  with  my  dear  thirteen  sisters,  it  is 
probable  I  should  have  liked  this  country  of  Attica,  in 
sight  of  the  blue  shores  of  which  the  present  pathetic  let- 
ter is  written ;  but  I  M^as  made  so  miserable  in  youth  by  a 
classical  education,  that  all  connected  with  it  is  disagree- 
able in  my  eyes;  and  I  have  the  same  recollection  of 
Greek  in  youth  that  I  have  of  castor-oil. 

So  in  coming  in  sight  of  the  promontory  of  Sunium, 
where  the  Greek  muse,  in  an  awful  vision,  came  to  me. 


REMINISCENCES   OF  TTim]  315 

and  said  in  a  patronizing  way,  "  Why,  my  dear,"  (she 
always,  the  old  spinster,  adopts  this  high  and  mighty 
tone,)  — "  Why,  my  dear,  are  you  not  charmed  to  be  in 
this  famous  neighbourhood,  in  this  land  of  poets  and  he- 
roes, of  whose  history  your  classical  education  ought  to 
have  made  you  a  master?  if  it  did  not,  you  have  wofully 
neglected  your  opportunities,  and  your  dear  parents  have 
wasted  their  money  in  sending  you  to  school."  I  replied, 
"  Madam,  your  company  in  youth  was  made  so  labori- 
ously disagreeable  to  me,  that  I  can't  at  present  reconcile 
myself  to  you  in  age.  I  read  your  poets,  but  it  was  in 
fear  and  trembling ;  and  a  cold  sweat  is  but  an  ill  accom- 
paniment to  poetry.  I  blundered  through  your  histo- 
ries; but  history  is  so  dull  (saving  your  presence)  of 
herself,  that  when  the  brutal  dulness  of  a  schoolmaster  is 
superadded  to  her  own  slow  conversation,  the  union  be- 
comes intolerable :  hence  I  have  not  the  slightest  pleasure 
in  renewing  my  acquaintance  with  a  lady  who  has  been 
the  source  of  so  much  bodily  and  mental  discomfort  to 
me."  To  make  a  long  story  short,  I  am  anxious  to 
apologize  for  a  want  of  enthusiasm  in  the  classical  line, 
and  to  excuse  an  ignorance  which  is  of  the  most  unde- 
niable sort. 

This  is  an  improper  frame  of  mind  for  a  person  visit- 
ing the  land  of  ^schylus  and  Euripides ;  add  to  which, 
we  have  been  abominably  overcharged  at  the  inn:  and 
what  are  the  blue  hills  of  Attica,  the  silver  calm  basin  of 
Pirseus,  the  heathery  heights  of  Pentelicus,  and  yonder 
rocks  crowned  by  the  Doric  columns  of  the  Parthenon, 
and  the  thin  Ionic  shafts  of  the  Erechtheum,  to  a  man 
who  has  had  little  rest,  and  is  bitten  all  over  by  bugs? 
Was  Alcibiades  bitten  by  bugs,  I  w^onder;  and  did  the 
brutes  crawl  over  him  as  he  lay  in  the  rosy  arms  of 


'61Q   JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Phryne?  I  wished  all  night  for  Socrates'  hammock  or 
basket,  as  it  is  described  in  the  "  Clouds;  "  in  which  rest- 
ing-place, no  doubt,  the  abominable  animals  kept  per- 
force clear  of  him. 

A  French  man-of-war,  lying  in  the  silvery  little  har- 
bour, sternly  eyeing  out  of  its  stern  port-holes  a  saucy 
little  English  corvette  beside,  began  playing  sounding 
marches  as  a  crowd  of  boats  came  paddling  up  to  the 
steamer's  side  to  convey  us  travellers  to  shore.  There 
were  Russian  schooners  and  Greek  brigs  lying  in  this  lit- 
tle bay;  dumpy  little  windmills  whirling  round  on  the 
sunburnt  heights  round  about  it ;  an  improvised  town  of 
quays  and  marine  taverns  has  sprung  up  on  the  shore;  a 
host  of  jingling  barouches,  more  miserable  than  any  to 
be  seen  even  in  Germany,  were  collected  at  the  landing- 
place;  and  the  Greek  drivers  (how  queer  they  looked  in 
skull-caps,  shabb}^  jackets  with  profuse  embroidery  of 


worsted,  and  endless  petticoats  of  dirty  calico!)  began, 
in  a  generous  ardour  for  securing  passengers,  to  abuse 
each  other's  horses  and  carriages  in  the  regular  London 
fashion.  Satire  could  certainly  hardl}^  caricature  the 
vehicle  in  which  we  were  made  to  journey  to  Athens;  and 
it  was  only  by  thinking  that,  bad  as  they  were,  these 
coaches  were  much  more  comfortable  contrivances  than 


LANDSCAPE  317 

any  Alcibiades  or  Cimon  ever  had,  that  we  consoled  our- 
selves along  the  road.  It  was  flat  for  six  miles  along  the 
plain  to  the  city :  and  you  see  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
way  the  purple  mount  on  which  the  Acropolis  rises,  and 
the  gleaming  houses  of  the  town  spread  beneath.  Round 
this  wide,  yellow,  barren  plain, — a  stunt  district  of  olive- 
trees  is  almost  the  only  vegetation  visible — there  rises,  as 
it  were,  a  sort  of  chorus  of  the  most  beautiful  mountains; 
the  most  elegant,  gracious,  and  noble  the  eye  ever  looked 
on.  These  hills  did  not  appear  at  all  lofty  or  terrible, 
but  superbly  rich  and  aristocratic.  The  clouds  were 
dancing  round  about  them;  you  could  see  their  rosy, 
purple  shadows  sweeping  round  the  clear,  serene  sum- 
mits of  the  hill.  To  call  a  hill  aristocratic  seems  affected 
or  absurd ;  but  the  difference  between  these  hills  and  the 
others,  is  the  difference  between  Newgate  Prison  and 
the  "  Travellers'  Club,"  for  instance:  both  are  buildings; 
but  the  one  stern,  dark,  and  coarse:  the  other  rich,  ele- 
gant, and  festive.  At  least,  so  I  thought.  With  such  a 
stately  palace  as  munificent  Nature  had  built  for  these 
people,  what  could  they  be  themselves  but  lordly,  beau- 
tiful, brilliant,  brave,  and  wise?  We  saw  four  Greeks 
on  donkeys  on  the  road  (which  is  a  dust-whirlwind  where 
it  is  not  a  puddle)  ;  and  other  four  were  playing  with  a 
dirty  pack  of  cards,  at  a  barrack  that  English  poets  have 
christened  the  "  Half-way  House."  Does  external  na- 
ture and  beauty  influence  the  soul  to  good?  You  go 
about  Warwickshire,  and  fancy  that  from  merely  being 
born  and  wandering  in  those  sweet  sunny  plains  and 
fresh  woodlands  Shakspeare  must  have  drunk  in  a  por- 
tion of  that  frank,  artless  sense  of  beauty,  which  lies 
about  his  works  like  a  bloom  or  dew;  but  a  Coventry 
ribbon-maker,  or  a  slang  Leamington  squire,  are  looking 


318  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

on  those  very  same  landscapes  too,  and  what  do  they 
profit?  You  theorize  about  the  influence  which  the  ch- 
mate  and  appearance  of  Attica  must  have  had  in  enno- 
bhng  those  who  were  born  there;  yonder  dirty,  swin- 
dhng,  ragged  blackguards,  lolling  over  greasy  cards 
three  hours  before  noon,  quarrelling  and  shrieking, 
armed  to  the  teeth  and  afraid  to  fight,  are  bred  out  of  the 
same  land  which  begot  the  philosophers  and  heroes.  But 
the  "  Half-way  House  "  is  past  by  this  time,  and  behold ! 
we  are  in  the  capital  of  King  Otho. 

I  swear  solemnly  that  I  would  rather  have  two  hun- 
dred a  year  in  Fleet  Street,  than  be  King  of  the  Greeks, 
with  Basileus  written  before  my  name  round  their  beg- 
garly coin;  with  the  bother  of  perpetual  revolutions  in 
my  huge  plaster-of -Paris  palace,  with  no  amusement  but 
a  drive  in  the  afternoon  over  a  wretched  arid  countrj^ 
where  roads  are  not  made,  with  ambassadors  (the  deuce 
knows  why,  for  what  good  can  the  English,  or  the 
French,  or  the  Russian  party  get  out  of  such  a  bankrupt 
alliance  as  this?)  perpetually  pulling  and  tugging  at  me, 
awav  from  honest  Germany,  where  there  is  beer  and 
aesthetic  conversation,  and  operas  at  a  small  cost.  The 
shabbiness  of  this  place  actually  beats  Ireland,  and  that 
is  a  strong  word.  The  palace  of  the  Basileus  is  an  enor- 
mous edifice  of  plaster,  in  a  square  containing  six  houses, 
three  donkeys,  no  roads,  no  fountains  (except  in  the  pic- 
ture of  the  inn)  ;  backwards  it  seems  to  look  straight  to 
the  mountain — on  one  side  is  a  beggarly  garden — the 
King  goes  out  to  drive  (revolutions  permitting)  at  five 
— some  four-and-twenty  blackguards  saunter  up  to  the 
huge  sandhill  of  a  terrace,  as  his  Majesty  passes  by  in  a 
gilt  barouche  and  an  absurd  fancy  dress;  the  gilt  ba- 
rouche goes  plunging  down  the  sandhills :  the  two  dozen 


LANDSCAPE  319 

soldiers,  who  have  been  presenting  arms,  slouch  off  to 
their  quarters:  the  vast  barrack  of  a  palace  remains  en- 
tirely white,  ghastly,  and  lonel}^:  and,  save  the  braying 
of  a  donkey  now  and  then,  (which  long-eared  minstrels 
are  more  active  and  sonorous  in  Athens  than  in  any  place 
I  know,)  all  is  entirely  silent  round  Basileus's  palace. 
How  could  people  who  knew  Leopold  fancy  he  would  be 
so  "  jolly  green  "  as  to  take  such  a  berth?  It  was  only  a 
gobemouche  of  a  Bavarian  that  could  ever  have  been  in- 
duced to  accept  it. 

I  beseech  you  to  believe  that  it  was  not  the  bill 
and  the  bugs  at  the  inn  which  induced  the  writer  hereof 
to  speak  so  slightingly  of  the  residence  of  Basileus. 
These  evils  are  now  cured  and  forgotten.  This  is  writ- 
ten off  the  leaden  flats  and  mounds  which  they  call  the 
Troad.  It  is  stern  justice  alone  which  pronounces  this 
excruciating  sentence.  It  was  a  farce  to  make  this  place 
into  a  kingly  capital;  and  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt 
that  King  Otho,  the  very  day  he  can  get  away  un- 
perceived,  and  get  together  the  passage-money,  will 
be  off  for  dear  old  Deutschland,  Fatherland,  Beer- 
land  ! 

I  have  never  seen  a  town  in  England  which  may  be 
compared  to  this;  for  though  Heme  Bay  is  a  ruin  now, 
money  was  once  spent  upon  it  and  houses  built ;  here,  be- 
yond a  few  score  of  mansions  comfortably  laid  out,  the 
town  is  little  better  than  a  rickety  agglomeration  of 
larger  and  smaller  huts,  tricked  out  here  and  there  with 
the  most  absurd  cracked  ornaments  and  cheap  attempts 
at  elegance.  But  neatness  is  the  elegance  of  poverty,  and 
these  people  despise  such  a  homely  ornament.  I  have 
got  a  map  with  squares,  fountains,  theatres,  public  gar- 
dens, and  Places  d'Othon  marked  out;  but  they  only 


320  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

exist  in  the  paper  capital — the  wretched  tumble-down 
wooden  one  boasts  of  none. 

One  is  obliged  to  come  back  to  the  old  disagreeable 
comparison  of  Ireland.  Athens  may  be  about  as  wealthy 
a  j^lace  as  Carlow  or  Killarney — the  streets  swarm  with 
idle  crowds,  the  innumerable  little  lanes  flow  over  with 
dirty  little  children,  they  are  playing  and  puddling 
about  in  the  dirt  everywhere,  with  great  big  eyes,  yellow 
faces,  and  the  queerest  little  gowns  and  skull-caps.  But 
in  the  outer  man,  the  Greek  has  far  the  advantage  of  the 
Irishman:  most  of  them  are  well  and  decently  dressed 
(if  five-and-twenty  yards  of  petticoat  may  not  be  called 
decent,  what  may?)  they  swagger  to  and  fro  with  huge 
knives  in  their  girdles.  Almost  all  the  men  are  hand- 
some, but  live  hard,  it  is  said,  in  order  to  decorate  their 
backs  with  those  fine  clothes  of  theirs.  I  have  seen  but 
two  or  three  handsome  women,  and  these  had  the  great 
drawback  which  is  common  to  the  race — I  mean,  a  sal- 
low, greasy,  coarse  complexion,  at  which  it  was  not  ad- 
visable to  look  too  closely. 

And  on  this  score  I  think  we  English  may  pride  our- 
selves on  possessing  an  advantage  (by  we,  I  mean  the 
lovely  ladies  to  whom  this  is  addressed  with  the  most  re- 
spectful compliments)  over  the  most  classical  country  in 
the  world.  I  don't  care  for  beauty  which  will  only  bear 
to  be  looked  at  from  a  distance,  like  a  scene  in  a  theatre. 
What  is  the  most  beautiful  nose  in  the  world,  if  it  be 
covered  with  a  skin  of  the  texture  and  colour  of  coarse 
whitey-brown  paper ;  and  if  Nature  has  made  it  as  slip- 
pery and  shining  as  though  it  had  been  anointed  with 
pomatum?  They  may  talk  about  beauty,  but  would  you 
wear  a  flower  that  had  been  dipped  in  a  grease-pot  ?  No ; 
give  me  a  fresh,  dewy,  healthy  rose  out  of  Somersetshire; 


GREEK   WOMEN  321 

not  one  of  those  superb,  tawdry,  unwholesome  exotics, 
which  are  only  good  to  make  poems  about.  Lord  Byron 
wi'ote  more  cant  of  this  sort  than  any  poet  I  know  of. 
Think  of  "  the  peasant  girls  with  dark  blue  eyes  "  of  the 
Rhine — the  brown-faced,  flat-nosed,  thick-lipped,  dirty 
wenches!  Think  of  "filling  high  a  cup  of  Samian 
wine ;  "  small  beer  is  nectar  compared  to  it,  and  Byron 
himself  always  drank  gin.  That  man  never  wrote  from 
his  heart.  He  got  up  raj^ture  and  enthusiasm  with  an  eye 
to  the  public;  but  this  is  dangerous  ground,  even  more 
dangerous  than  to  look  Athens  full  in  the  face,  and  say 
that  your  eyes  are  not  dazzled  by  its  beauty.  The  Great 
Public  admires  Greece  and  Byron ;  the  public  knows  best. 
Murray's  "  Guide-book  "  calls  the  latter  "  our  native 
bard."  Our  native  bard!  MonDieu!  Jf ^  Shakspeare's, 
Milton's,  Keats's,  Scott's  native  bard!  Well,  woe  be  to 
the  man  who  denies  the  public  gods ! 

The  truth  is,  then,  that  Athens  is  a  disappointment; 
and  I  am  angry  that  it  should  be  so.  To  a  skilled  anti- 
quarian, or  an  enthusiastic  Greek  scholar,  the  feelings 
created  by  a  sight  of  the  place  of  course  will  be  different ; 
but  you  who  would  be  inspired  by  it  must  undergo  a  long 
preparation  of  reading,  and  possess,  too,  a  particular 
feeling;  both  of  which,  I  suspect,  are  uncommon  in  our 
busy  commercial  newsj^aper-reading  countrj^  Men  only 
say  they  are  enthusiastic  about  the  Greek  and  Roman 
authors  and  history,  because  it  is  considered  proper  and 
respectable.  And  we  know  how  gentlemen  in  Baker 
Street  have  editions  of  the  classics  handsomely  bound  in 
the  library,  and  how  they  use  them.  Of  course  they  don't 
retire  to  read  the  newspaper;  it  is  to  look  over  a  favourite 
ode  of  Pindar,  or  to  discuss  an  obscure  passage  in  Athe- 
nseus!    Of  course  country  magistrates  and  JNIembers  of 


322  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Parliament  are  always  studying  Demosthenes  and  Ci- 
cero; we  know  it  from  their  continual  habit  of  quoting 
the  Latin  grammar  in  Parliament.  But  it  is  agreed  that 
the  classics  are  respectable ;  therefore  we  are  to  be  enthu- 
siastic about  them.  Also  let  us  admit  that  Byron  is  to  be 
held  up  as  "  our  native  bard." 

I  am  not  so  entire  a  heathen  as  to  be  insensible  to  the 
beauty  of  those  relics  of  Greek  art,  of  which  men  much 
more  learned  and  enthusiastic  have  written  such  piles  of 
descriptions.  I  thought  I  could  recognize  the  towering 
beauty  of  the  prodigious  columns  of  the  Temple  of  Ju- 
piter; and  admire  the  astonishing  grace,  severity,  ele- 
gance, completeness  of  the  Parthenon.  The  little  Tem- 
ple of  Victory,  with  its  fluted  Corinthian  shafts,  blazed 
under  the  sun  almost  as  fresh  as  it  must  have  appeared 
to  the  eyes  of  its  founders ;  I  saw  nothing  more  charming 
and  brilliant,  more  graceful,  festive,  and  aristocratic,  than 
this  sumptuous  little  building.  The  Roman  remains 
which  lie  in  the  town  below  look  like  the  works  of  barbar- 
ians beside  these  perfect  structures.  They  jar  strangely 
on  the  eye,  after  it  has  been  accustoming  itself  to  perfect 
harmony  and  proportions.  If,  as  the  schoolmaster  tells 
us,  the  Greek  writing  is  as  complete  as  the  Greek  art ;  if 
an  ode  of  Pindar  is  as  glittering  and  pure  as  the  Temple 
of  Victory ;  or  a  discourse  of  Plato  as  polished  and  calm 
as  yonder  mystical  portico  of  the  Erechtheum;  what 
treasures  of  the  senses  and  delights  of  the  imagination 
have  those  lost  to  whom  the  Greek  books  are  as  good  as 
sealed ! 

And  yet  one  meets  with  very  dull  first-class  men.  Ge- 
nius won't  transplant  from  one  brain  to  another,  or  is 
ruined  in  the  carriage,  like  fine  Burgundy.  Sir  Robert 
Peel  and  Sir  John  Hobhouse  are  both  good  scholars ;  but 


TrniQ   AGAIN  323 

their  poetry  In  Parliament  does  not  strike  one  as  fine. 
JNIuzzle,  the  schoolmaster,  who  is  bullying  poor  trembling 
little  boys,  was  a  fine  scholar  when  he  was  a  sizar,  and  a 
ruffian  then  and  ever  since.  Where  is  the  great  poet,  since 
the  days  of  Milton,  who  has  improved  the  natural  off- 
shoots of  his  brain  by  grafting  it  from  the  Athenian  tree  ? 

I  had  a  volume  of  Tennyson  in  my  pocket,  which 
somehow  settled  that  question,  and  ended  the  querulous 
dispute  between  me  and  Conscience,  under  the  shape  of 
the  neglected  and  irritated  Greek  muse,  which  had  been 
going  on  ever  since  I  had  commenced  my  walk  about 
Athens.  The  old  spinster  saw  me  wince  at  the  idea  of 
the  author  of  Dora  and  Ulysses,  and  tried  to  follow  up 
her  advantage  by  further  hints  of  time  lost,  and  precious 
opportunities  thrown  away.  "  You  might  have  written 
poems  like  them,"  said  she;  "  or,  no,  not  like  them  per- 
haps, but  you  might  have  done  a  neat  prize  poem,  and 
pleased  your  papa  and  mamma.  You  might  have  trans- 
lated Jack  and  Gill  into  Greek  iambics,  and  been  a  credit 
to  your  college."  I  turned  testily  away  from  her. 
"  Madam,"  says  I,  "  because  an  eagle  houses  on  a  moun- 
tain, or  soars  to  the  sun,  don't  you  be  angry  with  a  spar- 
row that  perches  on  a  garret-window,  or  twitters  on  a 
twig.  Leave  me  to  myself ;  look,  my  beak  is  not  aquiline 
by  any  means." 

And  so,  my  dear  friend,  you -who  have  been  reading 
this  last  page  in  wonder,  and  who,  instead  of  a  descrip- 
tion of  Athens,  have  been  accommodated  with  a  lament 
on  the  part  of  the  writer,  that  he  was  idle  at  school,  and 
does  not  know  Greek,  excuse  this  momentary  outbreak 
of  egotistic  despondency.  To  say  truth,  dear  Jones, 
when  one  walks  among  the  nests  of  the  eagles,  and  sees 
the  prodigious  eggs  they  laid,  a  certain  feeling  of  dis- 


324  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

comfiture  must  come  over  us  smaller  birds.  You  and  I 
could  not  invent — it  even  stretches  our  minds  painfully 
to  try  and  comprehend  part  of  the  beauty  of  the  Par- 
thenon—ever so  little  of  it,— the  beauty  of  a  single  col- 
umn,— a  fragment  of  a  broken  shaft  lying  under  the 
astonishing  blue  sky  there,  in  the  midst  of  that  unrivalled 
landscape.  There  may  be  grander  aspects  of  nature,  but 
none  more  deliciously  beautiful.  The  hills  rise  in  per- 
fect harmony,  and  fall  in  the  most  exquisite  cadences, — 
the  sea  seems  brighter,  the  islands  more  purple,  the 
clouds  more  light  and  rosy  than  elsewhere.  As  you  look 
up  through  the  open  roof,  you  are  almost  oppressed  by 
the  serene  depth  of  the  blue  overhead.  Look  even  at  the 
fragments  of  the  marble,  how  soft  and  pure  it  is,  glit- 
tering and  white  like  fresh  snow!  "  I  was  all  beautiful," 
it  seems  to  say:  "  even  the  hidden  parts  of  me  were  spot- 
less, precious,  and  fair  "—and  so,  musing  over  this  won- 
derful scene,  perhaps  I  get  some  feeble  glimpse  or  idea 
of  that  ancient  Greek  sj^irit  which  peopled  it  with  sub- 
lime races  of  heroes  and  gods ;  ^  and  which  I  never 
could  get  out  of  a  Greek  book,— no,  not  though  Muzzle 
flung  it  at  my  head. 

1  Saint  Paul  speaking  from  the  Areopagus,  and  rebuking  these  superstitions 
away,  yet  speaks  tenderly  to  the  people  before  him,  whose  devotions  he  had 
marked  ;  quotes  their  poets,  to  bring  them  to  think  of  the  God  unknown,  whom 
they  had  ignorantly  worshipped  ;  and  says,  that  the  times  of  this  ignorance  God 
winked  at,  but  that  now  it  was  time  to  repent.  No  rebuke  can  surely  be  more 
gentle  than  this  delivered  by  the  upright  Apostle. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SMYRNA— FIRST   GLIMPSES   OF   THE   EAST 

I  AIM  glad  that  the  Turkish  part  of  Athens  was  ex- 
tinct, so  that  I  should  not  he  baulked  of  the  pleasure 
of  entering  an  Eastern  town  by  an  introduction  to  any 
garbled  or  incomplete  specimen  of  one.  Smyrna  seems 
to  me  the  most  Eastern  of  all  I  have  seen;  as  Calais  will 
probably  remain  to  the  Englishman  the  most  French 
town  in  the  world.  The  jack-boots  of  the  postilions 
don't  seem  so  huge  elsewhere,  or  the  tight  stockings  of 
the  maid-servants  so  Gallic.  The  churches  and  the  ram- 
parts, and  the  little  soldiers  on  them,  remain  for  ever 
impressed  upon  j^our  memory;  from  which  larger  tem- 
ples and  buildings,  and  whole  armies  have  subsequently 
disappeared :  and  the  first  words  of  actual  French  heard 
spoken,  and  the  first  dinner  at  "  Quillacq's,"  remain 
after  twenty  years  as  clear  as  on  the  first  day.  Dear 
Jones,  can't  vou  remember  the  exact  smack  of  the  white 
hermitage,  and  the  toothless  old  fellow  singing  "  Largo 
al  factotum  "? 

The  first  day  in  the  East  is  like  that.  After  that  there 
is  nothing.  The  Avonder  is  gone,  and  the  thrill  of  that 
delightful  shock,  which  so  seldom  touches  the  nerves  of 
plain  men  of  the  world,  though  they  seek  for  it  every- 
where. One  such  looked  out  at  Smyrna  from  our 
steamer,  and  yawned  without  the  least  excitement,  and 
did  not  betray  the  slightest  emotion,  as  boats  with  real 

325 


326  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Turks  on  board  came  up  to  the  ship.  There  lay  the  town 
with  minarets  and  cypresses,  domes  and  castles;  great 
gmis  were  firing  off,  and  the  blood-red  flag  of  the  Sultan 
flaring  over  the  fort  ever  since  sunrise ;  woods  and  moun- 
tains came  down  to  the  gulf's  edge,  and  as  you  looked  at 
them  with  the  telescope,  there  peeped  out  of  the  general 
mass  a  score  of  pleasant  episodes  of  Eastern  life — there 
were  cottages  with  quaint  roofs ;  silent  cool  kiosks,  where 
the  chief  of  the  eunuchs  brings  down  the  ladies  of  the 
harem.  I  saw  Hassan,  the  fisherman,  getting  his  nets; 
and  Ali  Baba  going  ofl"  with  his  donkey  to  the  great  for- 
est for  wood.  Smith  looked  at  these  wonders  quite  un- 
moved; and  I  was  surprised  at  his  apathy:  but  he  had 
been  at  Smyrna  before.  A  man  only  sees  the  miracle 
once;  though  you  yearn  after  it  ever  so,  it  won't  come 
again.  I  saw  nothing  of  Ali  Baba  and  Hassan  the  next 
time  we  came  to  Smyrna,  and  had  some  doubts  (recol- 
lecting the  badness  of  the  inn)  about  landing  at  all.  A 
person  who  wishes  to  understand  France  and  the  East 
should  come  in  a  yacht  to  Calais  or  Smyrna,  land  for  two 
hours,  and  never  afterwards  go  back  again. 

But  those  two  hours  are  beyond  measure  delightful. 
Some  of  us  were  querulous  up  to  that  time,  and  doubted 
of  the  wisdom  of  making  the  voyage.  Lisbon,  we 
owned,  was  a  failure ;  Athens  a  dead  failure ;  jNIalta  very 
well,  but  not  worth  the  trouble  and  sea-sickness :  in  fact, 
Baden-Baden  or  Devonshire  would  be  a  better  move 
than  this ;  when  Smyrna  came,  and  rebuked  all  mutinous 
Cockneys  into  silence.  Some  men  may  read  this  who  are 
in  want  of  a  sensation.  If  they  love  the  odd  and  pictur- 
esque, if  they  loved  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  in  their 
youth,  let  them  book  themselves  on  board  one  of  the  Pe- 
ninsular and  Oriental  vessels,  and  try  one  dip  into  Con- 


THE   SMYRNA  BAZAAR  327 

stantinople  or  Smyrna.  Walk  into  the  bazaar,  and  the 
East  is  unveiled  to  you;  how  often  and  often  have  you 
tried  to  fancy  this,  lying  out  on  a  summer  holiday  at 
school !  It  is  wonderful,  too,  how  like  it  is ;  you  may  im- 
agine that  you  have  been  in  the  place  before,  you  seem  to 
know  it  so  well ! 

The  beauty  of  that  poetry  is,  to  me,  that  it  was  never 
too  handsome ;  there  is  no  fatigue  of  sublimity  about  it. 
Shacabac  and  the  little  Barber  play  as  great  a  part  in  it 
as  the  heroes;  there  are  no  uncomfortable  sensations  of 
terror;  you  may  be  familiar  with  the  great  Afreet,  who 
was  going  to  execute  the  travellers  for  killing  his  son 
with  a  date-stone.  Morgiana,  when  she  kills  the  forty 
robbers  with  boiling  oil,  does  not  seem  to  hurt  them  in  the 
least;  and  though  King  Schahriar  makes  a  practice  of 
cutting  oiF  his  wives'  heads,  yet  you  fancy  they  have  got 
them  on  again  in  some  of  the  back  rooms  of  the  palace, 
where  they  are  dancing  and  playing  on  dulcimers.  How 
fresh,  easy,  good-natured,  is  all  this!  How  delightful 
is  that  notion  of  the  pleasant  Eastern  people  about 
knowledge,  where  the  height  of  science  is  made  to  consist 
in  the  answering  of  riddles!  and  all  the  mathematicians 
and  magicians  bring  their  great  beards  to  bear  on  a 
conundrum ! 

When  I  got  into  the  bazaar  among  this  race,  somehow 
I  felt  as  if  they  were  all  friends.  There  sat  the  merchants 
in  their  little  shops,  quiet  and  solemn,  but  with  friendly 
looks.  There  was  no  smoking,  it  was  the  Ramazan;  no 
eating,  the  fish  and  meats  fizzing  in  the  enormous  pots 
of  the  cook-shops  are  only  for  the  Christians.  The  chil- 
dren abounded;  the  law  is  not  so  stringent  upon  them, 
and  many  wandering  merchants  were  there  selling  figs 
(in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  doubtless,)  for  their  bene- 


328  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

fit,  and  elbowing  onwards  with  baskets  of  grapes  and 
cucumbers.  Countrymen  passed  bristling  over  with 
arms,  each  with  a  huge  bellyful  of  pistols  and  daggers  in 
his  girdle;  fierce,  but  not  the  least  dangerous.  Wild 
swarthy  Arabs,  who  had  come  in  with  the  caravans, 
walked  solemnly  about,  very  different  in  look  and  de- 
meanour from  the  sleek  inhabitants  of  the  town.  Greeks 
and  Jews  squatted  and  smoked,  their  shops  tended  by 
sallow-faced  boys,  with  large  eyes,  who  smiled  and  wel- 
comed you  in;  negroes  bustled  about  in  gaudy  colours; 
and  women,  with  black  nose-bags  and  shuffling  yellow 
slippers,  chattered  and  bargained  at  the  doors  of  the 
little  shops.  There  was  the  rope  quarter  and  the  sweet- 
meat quarter,  and  the  pipe  bazaar  and  the  arm  bazaar, 
and  the  little  turned-up  shoe  quarter,  and  the  shops 
where  ready-made  jackets  and  pelisses  were  swinging, 
and  the  region  where,  under  the  ragged  awnings,  regi- 
ments of  tailors  were  at  work.  The  sun  peeps  through 
these  awnings  of  mat  or  canvas,  which  are  hung  over  the 
narrow  lanes  of  the  bazaar,  and  ornaments  them  with  a 
thousand  freaks  of  light  and  shadow.  Cogia  Hassan 
Alhabbal's  shop  is  in  a  blaze  of  light;  while  his  neigh- 
bour, the  barber  and  coffee-house  keeper,  has  his  prem- 
ises, his  low  seats  and  narghiles,  his  queer  pots  and  basins, 
in  the  shade.  The  cobblers  are  always  good-natured; 
there  was  one  who,  I  am  sure,  has  been  revealed  to  me 
in  my  dreams,  in  a  dirty  old  green  turban,  with  a 
pleasant  wrinkled  face  like  an  apple,  twinkling  his  little 
grey  eyes  as  he  held  them  up  to  talk  to  the  gossips,  and 
smiling  under  a  delightful  old  grey  beard,  which  did  the 
heart  good  to  see.  You  divine  the  conversation  between 
him  and  the  cucumberman,  as  the  Sultan  used  to  under- 
stand the  language  of  birds.    Are  any  of  those  cucum- 


THE   SMYRNA  BAZAAR  329 

bers  stuffed  with  pearls,  and  is  that  Armenian  with  the 
black  square  turban  Ilaroun  Alraschid  in  disguise, 
standing  yonder  bj^  the  fountain  where  the  children  are 
drinking — the  gleaming  marble  fountain,  chequered  all 
over  with  light  and  shadow,  and  engraved  with  delicate 
arabesques  and  sentences  from  the  Koran? 

But  the  greatest  sensation  of  all  is  when  the  camels 
come.  Whole  strings  of  real  camels,  better  even  than  in 
the  procession  of  Bluebeard,  with  soft  rolling  eyes  and 
bended  necks,  swaying  from  one  side  of  the  bazaar  to  the 
other  to  and  fro,  and  treading  gingerly  with  their  great 
feet.  O  you  fairy  dreams  of  boyhood!  O  you  sweet 
meditations  of  half -holidays,  here  you  are  realized  for 
half -an-hour !  The  genius  which  presides  over  youth  led 
us  to  do  a  good  action  that  da}^  There  was  a  man  sit- 
ting in  an  open  room,  ornamented  with  fine  long-tailed 
sentences  of  the  Koran :  some  in  red,  some  in  blue ;  some 
written  diagonally  over  the  paper ;  some  so  shaped  as  to 
represent  ships,  dragons,  or  mj^sterious  animals.  The 
man  squatted  on  a  carpet  in  the  middle  of  this  room,  with 
folded  arms,  waggling  his  head  to  and  fro,  swaying 
about,  and  singing  through  his  nose  choice  phrases  from 
the  sacred  work.  But  from  the  room  above  came  a  clear 
noise  of  many  little  shouting  voices,  much  more  musical 
than  that  of  Naso  in  the  matted  parlour,  and  the  guide 
told  us  it  was  a  school,  so  we  went  upstairs  to  look. 

I  declare,  on  my  conscience,  the  master  was  in  the  act 
of  bastinadoing  a  little  mulatto  boy;  his  feet  were  in  a 
bar,  and  the  brute  was  laying  on  with  a  cane ;  so  we  wit- 
nessed the  howling  of  the  poor  boy,  and  the  confusion  of 
the  brute  who  was  administering  the  correction.  The 
other  children  were  made  to  shout,  I  believe,  to  drown 
the  noise  of  their  little  comrade's  howling ;  but  the  pun- 


330  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

ishment  was  instantly  discontinued  as  our  hats  came  up 
over  the  stair-trap,  and  the  boy  cast  loose,  and  the  bam- 
boo huddled  into  a  corner,  and  the  schoolmaster  stood 
before  us  abashed.  All  the  small  scholars  in  red  caps, 
and  the  little  girls  in  gaudy  handkerchiefs,  turned  their 
big  wondering  dark  eyes  towards  us;  and  the  caning 
was  over  for  that  time,  let  us  trust.  I  don't  envy  some 
schoolmasters  in  a  future  state.  I  pity  that  poor  lit- 
tle blubbering  Mahometan;  he  will  never  be  able  to 
relish  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  in  the  original,  all  his  Hfe 
long. 

From  this  scene  we  rushed  off  somewhat  discomposed 
to  make  a  breakfast  off  red  mullets  and  grapes,  melons, 
pomegranates,  and  Smyrna  wine,  at  a  dirty  little  com- 
fortable inn,  to  which  we  were  recommended :  and  from 
the  windows  of  which  we  had  a  fine  cheerful  view  of  the 
gulf  and  its  busy  craft,  and  the  loungers  and  merchants 
along  the  shore.  There  were  camels  unloading  at  one 
wharf,  and  piles  of  melons  much  bigger  than  the  Gib- 
raltar cannon-balls  at  another.  It  was  the  fig-season, 
and  we  passed  through  several  alleys  encumbered  with 
long  rows  of  fig-dressers,  children  and  women  for  the 
most  part,  who  were  packing  the  fruit  diligently  into 
drums,  dipping  them  in  salt-water  first,  and  spreading 
them  neatly  over  with  leaves;  while  the  figs  and  leaves 
are  drying,  large  white  worms  crawl  out  of  them,  and 
swarm  over  the  decks  of  the  ships  which  carry  them  to 
Europe  and  to  England,  where  small  children  eat  them 
with  pleasure— I  mean  the  figs,  not  the  worms— and 
where  they  are  still  served  at  wine-parties  at  the  Univer- 
sities. When  fresh  they  are  not  better  than  elsewhere; 
but  the  melons  are  of  admirable  flavour,  and  so  large, 
that  Cinderella  might  almost  be  accommodated  with  a 


WOMEN  331 

coach  made  of  a  big  one,  without  any  very  great  disten- 
tion of  its  original  proportions. 

Our  guide,  an  accomplished  swindler,  demanded  two 
dollars  as  the  fee  for  entering  the  mosque,  which  others 
of  our  party  subsequently  saw  for  sixpence,  so  we  did 
not  care  to  examine  that  place  of  worship.  But  there 
were  other  cheaper  sights,  which  were  to  the  full  as  pic- 
turesque, for  which  there  was  no  call  to  pay  money,  or, 
indeed,  for  a  day,  scarcely  to  move  at  all.  I  doubt  whe- 
ther a  man  who  would  smoke  his  pipe  on  a  bazaar  counter 
all  day,  and  let  the  city  flow  by  him,  would  not  be  almost 
as  well  employed  as  the  most  active  curiosity-hunter. 

To  be  sure,  he  would  not  see  the  women.  Those  in  the 
bazaar  were  shabby  people  for  the  most  part,  whose  black 
masks  nobody  would  feel  a  curiosity  to  remove.  You 
could  see  no  more  of  their  figures  than  if  they  had  been 
stuffed  in  bolsters;  and  even  their  feet  were  brought  to 
a  general  splay  uniformity  by  the  double  yellow  slippers 
which  the  wives  of  true  believers  wear.  But  it  is  in  the 
Greek  and  Armenian  quarters,  and  among  those  poor 
Christians  who  were  pulling  figs,  that  you  see  the  beau- 
ties; and  a  man  of  a  generous  disposition  may  lose  his 
heart  half  a  dozen  times  a  day  in  Smyrna.  There  was 
the  pretty  maid  at  work  at  a  tambour-frame  in  an  open 
porch,  with  an  old  duenna  spinning  by  her  side,  and 
a  goat  tied  up  to  the  railings  of  the  little  court-garden ; 
there  was  the  nymph  who  came  down  the  stair  with  the 
pitcher  on  her  head,  and  gazed  with  great  calm  eyes,  as 
large  and  stately  as  Juno's ;  there  was  the  gentle  mother, 
bending  over  a  queer  cradle,  in  which  lay  a  small  crying 
bundle  of  infancy.  All  these  three  charmers  were  seen 
in  a  single  street  in  the  Ai'menian  quarter,  where  the 
house-doors  are  all  open,  and  the  women  of  the  families 


382  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

sit  under  the  arches  in  the  court.  There  was  the  fig- 
girl,  beautiful  beyond  all  others,  with  an  immense  coil 
of  deep  black  hair  twisted  round  a  head  of  which  Ra- 
phael was  worthy  to  draw  the  outline,  and  Titian  to  paint 
the  colour.  I  wonder  the  Sultan  has  not  swept  her  off, 
or  that  the  Persian  merchants,  who  come  with  silks  and 
sweetmeats,  have  not  kidnapped  her  for  the  Shah  of 
Tehran. 

We  went  to  see  the  Persian  merchants  at  their  khan, 
and  purchased  some  silks  there  from  a  swarthy,  black- 
bearded  man,  with  a  conical  cap  of  lambswool.  Is  it  not 
hard  to  think  that  silks  bought  of  a  man  in  a  lambswool 
cap,  in  a  caravanserai,  brought  hither  on  the  backs  of 
camels,  should  have  been  manufactured  after  all  at 
Lyons?  Others  of  our  party  bought  carpets,  for  which 
the  town  is  famous;  and  there  was  one  who  absolutely 
laid  in  a  stock  of  real  Smyrna  figs ;  and  purchased  three 
or  four  real  Smyrna  sponges  for  his  carriage ;  so  strong 
was  his  passion  for  the  genuine  article. 

I  wonder  that  no  painter  has  given  us  familiar  views 
of  the  East :  not  processions,  grand  sultans,  or  magnifi- 
cent landscapes;  but  faithful  transcripts  of  everyday 
Oriental  life,  such  as  each  street  will  supply  to  him.  The 
camels  afford  endless  motives,  couched  in  the  market- 
places, lying  by  thousands  in  the  camel  square,  snorting 
and  bubbling  after  their  manner,  the  sun  blazing  down 
on  their  backs,  their  slaves  and  keepers  lying  behind  them 
in  the  shade:  and  the  Caravan  Bridge,  above  all,  would 
afford  a  painter  subjects  for  a  dozen  of  j^ictures.  Over 
this  Roman  arch,  which  crosses  the  Meles  river,  all  the 
caravans  pass  on  their  entrance  to  the  town.  On  one 
side,  as  we  sat  and  looked  at  it,  was  a  great  row  of  plane- 
trees  ;  on  the  opposite  bank,  a  deep  wood  of  tall  cypresses 


•n 

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Cu 

2 

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o 
a 

0) 
0) 

1- 
CO 

in 

a 

n 

<1 

o 

THE  CARAVAN  BRIDGE  333 

— in  the  midst  of  which  rose  up  innumerable  grey  tombs, 
surmounted  with  the  turbans  of  the  defunct  behevers. 
Beside  the  stream,  the  view  was  less  gloomy.  There  was 
under  the  plane-trees  a  little  coffee-house,  shaded  by  a 
trellis-work,  covered  over  with  a  vine,  and  ornamented 
with  many  rows  of  shining  pots  and  water-pipes,  for 
which  there  was  no  use  at  noon-day  now,  in  the  time  of 
Ramazan.  Hard  by  the  coffee-house  was  a  garden  and 
a  bubbling  marble  fountain,  and  over  the  stream  was  a 
broken  summer-house,  to  which  amateurs  may  ascend, 
for  the  purpose  of  examining  the  river;  and  all  round 
the  plane-trees  plenty  of  stools  for  those  who  were  in- 
clined to  sit  and  drink  sweet  thick  coffee,  or  cool  lemon- 
ade made  of  fresh  green  citrons.  The  master  of  the 
house,  dressed  in  a  white  turban  and  light  blue  pelisse, 
lolled  under  the  coffee-house  awning ;  the  slave  in  white 
with  a  crimson  striped  jacket,  his  face  as  black  as  ebony, 
brought  us  pipes  and  lemonade  again,  and  returned  to 
his  station  at  the  coffee-house,  where  he  curled  his  black 
legs  together,  and  began  singing  out  of  his  flat  nose  to 
the  thrumming  of  a  long  guitar  with  wire  strings.  The 
instrument  was  not  bigger  than  a  soup-ladle,  with  a  long 
straight  handle,  but  its  music  pleased  the  performer ;  for 
his  eyes  rolled  shining  about,  and  his  head  wagged,  and 
he  grinned  with  an  innocent  intensity  of  enjoyment  that 
did  one  good  to  look  at.  And  there  was  a  friend  to  share 
his  pleasure:  a  Turk  dressed  in  scarlet,  and  covered  all 
over  with  daggers  and  pistols,  sat  leaning  forward  on  his 
little  stool,  rocking  about,  and  grinning  quite  as  eagerly 
as  the  black  minstrel.  As  he  sang  and  we  listened,  fig- 
ures of  women  bearing  pitchers  went  passing  over  the 
Roman  bridge,  which  we  saw  between  the  large  trunks 
of  the  planes ;  or  grey  forms  of  camels  were  seen  stalk- 


334  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

ing  across  it,  the  string  preceded  by  the  httle  donkey, 
who  is  always  here  their  long-eared  conductor. 

These  are  very  humble  incidents  of  travel.  Wherever 
the  steamboat  touches  the  shore  adventure  retreats  into 
the  interior,  and  what  is  called  romance  vanishes.  It 
won't  bear  the  vulgar  gaze;  or  rather  the  light  of  com- 
mon day  puts  it  out,  and  it  is  only  in  the  dark  that  it 
shines  at  all.  There  is  no  cursing  and  insulting  of 
Giaours  now.  If  a  Cockney  looks  or  behaves  in  a  par- 
ticularly ridiculous  way,  the  little  Turks  come  out  and 
laugh  at  him.  A  Londoner  is  no  longer  a  spittoon  for 
true  believers :  and  now  that  dark  Hassan  sits  in  his  divan 
and  drinks  champagne,  and  Selim  has  a  French  watch, 
and  Zuleika  perhaps  takes  Morrison's  pills,  Byronism 
becomes  absurd  instead  of  sublime,  and  is  only  a  foolish 
expression  of  Cockney  wonder.  They  still  occasionally 
beat  a  man  for  going  into  a  mosque,  but  this  is  almost 
the  only  sign  of  ferocious  vitality  left  in  the  Turk  of  the 
[Mediterranean  coast,  and  strangers  may  enter  scores  of 
mosques  without  molestation.  The  paddle-wheel  is  the 
great  conqueror.  Wherever  the  captain  cries  "  Stop 
her!  "  Civilization  stops,  and  lands  in  the  ship's  boat,  and 
makes  a  permanent  acquaintance  with  the  savages  on 
shore.  Whole  hosts  of  crusaders  have  passed  and  died, 
and  butchered  here  in  vain.  But  to  manufacture  Euro- 
pean iron  into  pikes  and  helmets  was  a  waste  of  metal: 
in  the  shape  of  piston-rods  and  furnace-pokers  it  is  irre- 
sistible ;  and  I  think  an  allegory  might  be  made  showing 
how  much  stronger  commerce  is  than  chivalry,  and  finish- 
ing with  a  grand  image  of  INIahomet's  crescent  being 
extinguished  in  Fulton's  boiler. 

This  I  thought  was  the  moral  of  the  day's  sights  and 
adventures.    We  pulled  off  to  the  steamer  in  the  after- 


THE   TOMB   OF   ACHILLES  335 

noon — the  Inbat  blowing  fresh,  and  setting  all  the  craft 
in  the  gulf  dancing  over  its  blue  waters.  We  were  pres- 
ently under  weigh  again,  the  captain  ordering  his  en- 
gines to  work  only  at  half  power,  so  that  a  French 
steamer  which  was  quitting  Smyrna  at  the  same  time 
might  come  up  with  us,  and  fancy  she  could  beat  the 
irresistible  "  Tagus."  Vain  hope!  Just  as  the  French- 
man neared  us,  the  "  Tagus  "  shot  out  like  an  arrow,  and 
the  discomfited  Frenchman  went  behind.  Though  we 
all  relished  the  joke  exceedingly,  there  was  a  French 
gentleman  on  board  Avho  did  not  seem  to  be  by  any  means 
tickled  with  it;  but  he  had  received  papers  at  Smyrna, 
containing  news  of  ^Marshal  Bugeaud's  victory  at  Isley, 
and  had  this  land  victor}^  to  set  against  our  harmless  little 
triumph  at  sea. 

That  night  we  rounded  the  Island  of  JMitjdene:  and 
the  next  day  the  coast  of  Troj^  was  in  sight,  and  the  tomb 
of  Achilles — a  dismal-looking  mound  that  rises  in  a  low, 
dreary,  barren  shore — less  lively  and  not  more  pictur- 
esque than  the  Scheldt  or  the  mouth  of  the  Thames. 
Then  we  passed  Tenedos  and  the  forts  and  town  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Dardanelles.  The  weather  was  not  too  hot, 
the  water  as  smooth  as  at  Putney,  and  everybody  happy 
and  excited  at  the  thought  of  seeing  Constantinople  to- 
morrow. We  had  music  on  board  all  the  way  from 
Smyrna.  A  German  commis-voyageur,  with  a  guitar, 
who  had  passed  unnoticed  until  that  time,  produced  his 
instrument  about  mid-day,  and  began  to  whistle  waltzes. 
He  whistled  so  divinely  that  the  ladies  left  their  cabins, 
and  men  laid  down  their  books.  He  whistled  a  polka  so 
bewitchingly  that  two  young  Oxford  men  began  whirl- 
ing round  the  deck,  and  performed  that  popular  dance 
with  much  agility  until  they  sank  doA^^l  tired.    He  still 


336  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

continued  an  unabated  whistling,  and  as  nobody  would 
dance,  pulled  off  his  coat,  produced  a  pair  of  castanets, 
and  whistling  a  mazurka,  performed  it  with  tremendous 
agility.  His  whistling  made  everybody  gay  and  happy 
— made  those  acquainted  who  had  not  spoken  before, 
and  inspired  such  a  feeling  of  hilarity  in  the  ship,  that 
,  that  night,  as  we  floated  over  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  a 
general  vote  was  expressed  for  broiled  bones  and  a  regu- 
lar supper-party.  Punch  was  brewed,  and  speeches  were 
made,  and  after  a  lapse  of  fifteen  years,  I  heard  the 
"  Old  English  Gentleman  "  and  "  Bright  Chanticleer 
Proclaims  the  INIorn,"  sung  in  such  style  that  you  would 
almost  fancy  the  proctors  must  hear,  and  send  us  all 
home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONSTANTINOPLE 

WHEN  we  rose  at  sunrise  to  see  the  famous  entry 
to  Constantinople,  we  found,  in  the  place  of  the 
city  and  the  sun,  a  bright  white  fog,  which  hid  both 
from  sight,  and  which  only  disappeared  as  the  vessel 
advanced  towards  the  Golden  Horn.  There  the  fog 
cleared  oiF  as  it  were  by  flakes,  and  as  you  see  gauze 
curtains  lifted  away,  one  by  one,  before  a  great  fairy 
scene  at  the  theatre.  This  will  give  idea  enough  of  the 
fog;  the  difficulty  is  to  describe  the  scene  afterwards, 
which  was  in  truth  the  great  fairy  scene,  than  which  it 
is  impossible  to  conceive  anything  more  brilliant  and 
magnificent.  I  can't  go  to  any  more  romantic  place  than 
Drury  Lane  to  draw  my  similes  from— Drury  Lane, 
such  as  we  used  to  see  it  in  our  youth,  when  to  our  sight 
the  grand  last  pictures  of  the  melodrama  or  pantomime 
were  as  magnificent  as  any  objects  of  nature  we  have 
seen  with  maturer  eyes.  Well,  the  view  of  Constanti- 
nople is  as  fine  as  any  of  Stanfield's  best  theatrical  pic- 
tures, seen  at  the  best  period  of  youth,  when  fancy  had 
all  the  bloom  on  her — when  all  the  heroines  who  danced 
before  the  scene  appeared  as  ravishing  beauties,  when 
there  shone  an  unearthly  splendour  about  Baker  and 
Diddear — and  the  sound  of  the  bugles  and  fiddles,  and 
the  cheerful  clang  of  the  cymbals,  as  the  scene  unrolled, 
and  the  gorgeous  procession  meandered  triumphantly 
through  it— caused  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  and  awakened 

337 


338  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

an  innocent  fulness  of  sensual  enjoyment  that  is  only 
given  to  boys. 

The  above  sentence  contains  the  following  proposi- 
tions:—  The  enjoyments  of  boyish  fancy  are  the  most 
intense  and  delicious  in  the  world.  Stanfield's  pano- 
rama used  to  be  the  realization  of  the  most  intense 
j^outhful  fancy.  I  puzzle  my  brains  and  find  no  better 
likeness  for  the  place.  The  view  of  Constantinople  re- 
sembles the  ne  plus  ultra  of  a  Stanfield  diorama,  with  a 
glorious  accompaniment  of  music,  spangled  houris,  war- 
riors, and  winding  processions,  feasting  the  eyes  and  the 
soul  with  light,  splendour,  and  harmon5\  If  you  were 
never  in  this  way  during  your  youth  ravished  at  the 
play-house,  of  course  the  whole  comparison  is  useless: 
and  3^ou  have  no  idea,  from  this  description,  of  the 
effect  which  Constantinople  produces  on  the  mind.  But 
if  vou  were  never  affected  bv  a  theatre,  no  words  can 
work  upon  your  fancy,  and  typographical  attempts  to 
move  it  are  of  no  use.  For,  suppose  we  combine  mosque, 
minaret,  gold,  cypress,  water,  blue,  caiques,  seventy-four, 
Galata,  Tophana,  Ramazan,  Backallum,  and  so  forth, 
together,  in  ever  so  many  ways,  your  imagination  will 
never  be  able  to  depict  a  city  out  of  them.  Or,  suppose 
I  say  the  INIosque  of  St.  Sophia  is  four  hundred  and 
seventj^-three  feet  in  height,  measuring  from  the  middle 
nail  of  the  gilt  crescent  surmounting  the  dome  to  the 
ring  in  the  centre  stone;  the  circle  of  the  dome  is  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three  feet  in  diameter,  the  windows 
ninety-seven  in  number— and  all  this  may  be  true,  for 
anything  I  know  to  the  contrary:  yet  who  is  to  get 
an  idea  of  St.  Sophia  from  dates,  proper  names,  and 
calculations  with  a  measuring-line?  It  can't  be  done  by 
giving  the  age  and  measurement  of  all  the  buildings 


CONSTANTINOPLE  339 

along  the  river,  the  names  of  all  the  boatmen  who  ply 
on  it.  Has  your  fancy,  which  pooh-poohs  a  simile,  faith 
enough  to  build  a  city  with  a  foot-rule?  Enough  said 
about  descriptions  and  similes  (though  whenever  I  am 
uncertain  of  one  I  am  naturally  most  anxious  to  fight 
for  it)  :  it  is  a  scene  not  perhaps  sublime,  but  charming, 
magnificent,  and  cheerful  beyond  any  I  have  ever  seen 
— the  most  superb  combination  of  city  and  gardens, 
domes  and  shipping,  hills  and  water,  with  the  healthiest 
breeze  blowing  over  it,  and  above  it  the  brightest  and 
most  cheerful  sky. 

It  is  proper,  they  say,  to  be  disappointed  on  entering 
the  town,  or  anj^  of  the  various  quarters  of  it,  because 
the  houses  are  not  so  magnificent  on  inspection,  and  seen 
singly,  as  they  are  when  beheld  en  masse  from  the  waters. 
But  w^hy  form  expectations  so  lofty?  If  3'ou  see  a 
group  of  peasants  picturesquely  disposed  at  a  fair,  you 
don't  suppose  that  they  are  all  faultless  beauties,  or  that 
the  men's  coats  have  no  rags,  and  the  w^omen's  gowns 
are  made  of  silk  and  velvet :  the  wild  ugliness  of  the  in- 
terior of  Constantinople  or  Pera  has  a  charm  of  its  o^vn, 
greatly  more  amusing  than  rows  of  red  bricks  or  drab 
stones,  however  symmetrical.  With  brick  or  stone  they 
could  never  form  those  fantastic  ornaments,  railings, 
balconies,  roofs,  galleries,  which  jut  in  and  out  of  the 
rugged  houses  of  the  city.  As  we  went  from  Galata 
to  Pera  up  a  steep  hill,  which  new-comers  ascend  with 
some  difficulty,  but  which  a  porter,  with  a  couple  of  hun- 
dredweight on  his  back,  paces  up  without  turning  a  hair, 
I  thought  the  w^ooden  houses,  far  from  being  disagree- 
able objects,  sights  quite  as  surprising  and  striking  as 
the  grand  one  we  had  just  left. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  custom-house  of  his  Highness 


340  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

is  made  to  be  a  profitable  speculation.  As  I  left  the 
ship  a  man  pulled  after  my  boat,  and  asked  for  back- 
sheesh, which  was  given  him  to  the  amount  of  about  two- 
pence. He  was  a  custom-house  officer,  but  I  doubt 
whether  this  sum  which  he  levied  ever  went  to  the 
revenue. 

I  can  fancy  the  scene  about  the  quays  somewhat  to 
resemble  the  river  of  London  in  olden  times,  before  coal- 
smoke  had  darkened  the  whole  city  with  soot,  and  when, 
according  to  the  old  writers,  there  really  was  bright  wea- 
ther. The  fleets  of  caiques  bustling  along  the  shore,  or 
scudding  over  the  blue  water,  are  beautiful  to  look  at: 
in  Hollar's  print  London  river  is  so  studded  over  with 
wherry-boats,  which  bridges  and  steamers  have  since 
destroyed.  Here  the  caique  is  still  in  full  perfection: 
there  are  thirty  thousand  boats  of  the  kind  plying  be- 
tween the  cities;  every  boat  is  neat,  and  trimly  carved 
and  painted ;  and  I  scarcely  saw  a  man  pulling  in  one  of 
them  that  was  not  a  fine  specimen  of  his  race,  brawny 
and  brown,  with  an  open  chest  and  a  handsome  face. 
They  wear  a  thin  shirt  of  exceedingly  light  cotton,  which 
leaves  their  fine  brown  limbs  full  play;  and  with  a  pur- 
ple sea  for  a  background,  every  one  of  these  dashing 
boats  forms  a  brilliant  and  glittering  picture.  Pas- 
sengers squat  in  the  inside  of  the  boat;  so  that  as  it 
passes  you  see  little  more  than  the  heads  of  the  true  be- 
lievers, with  their  red  fez  and  blue  tassel,  and  that  placid 
gravity  of  expression  w^hich  the  sucking  of  a  tobacco- 
pipe  is  sure  to  give  to  a  man. 

The  Bosphorus  is  enlivened  by  a  multiplicity  of  other 
kinds  of  craft.  There  are  the  dirty  men-of-war's  boats 
of  the  Russians,  with  unwashed,  mangy  crews ;  the  great 
ferry-boats  carrying  hundreds  of  passengers  to  the  vil- 


CONSTANTINOPLE  341 

lages;  the  melon-boats  piled  up  with  enormous  golden 
fruit;  his  Excellency  the  Pasha's  boat,  with  twelve  men 
bending  to  their  oars ;  and  his  Highness's  own  caique,  with 
a  head  like  a  serpent,  and  eight-and-twenty  tugging  oars- 
men, that  goes  shooting  by  amidst  the  thundering  of  the 
cannon.  Ships  and  steamers,  with  black  sides  and  flaunt- 
ing colours,  are  moored  everywhere,  showing  their  flags, 
Russian  and  English,  Austrian,  American,  and  Greek; 
and  along  the  quays  country  ships  from  the  Black  Sea 
or  the  islands,  with  high  carved  poops  and  bows,  such 
as  you  see  in  the  pictures  of  the  shipping  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  The  vast  groves  and  towers,  domes  and 
quays,  tall  minarets  and  spired  spreading  mosques  of  the 
three  cities,  rise  all  around  in  endless  magnificence  and 
variety,  and  render  this  water-street  a  scene  of  such  de- 
lightful liveliness  and  beauty,  that  one  never  tires  of 
looking  at  it.  I  lost  a  great  number  of  the  sights  in 
and  round  Constantinople  through  the  beauty  of  this 
admirable  scene :  but  what  are  sights  after  all  ?  and  isn't 
that  the  best  sight  which  makes  you  most  happy? 

We  were  lodged  at  Pera  at  "  Misseri's  Hotel,"  the 
host  of  which  has  been  made  famous  ere  this  time  by  the 
excellent  book  "  Eothen,"— a  work  for  which  all  the 
passengers  on  board  our  ship  had  been  battling,  and 
which  had  charmed  all— from  our  great  statesman,  our 
polished  law^^er,  our  young  Oxonian,  who  sighed  over 
certain  passages  that  he  feared  were  wicked,  down  to  the 
writer  of  this,  who,  after  perusing  it  with  delight,  laid 
it  down  with  wonder,  exclaiming,  "  Aut  Diabolus  aut " 
— a  book  which  has  since  (greatest  miracle  of  all)  ex- 
cited a  feeling  of  warmth  and  admiration  in  the  bosom 
of  the  godlike,  impartial,  stony  Athenceum.  Misseri, 
the  faithful  and  chivalrous  Tartar,  is  transformed  into 


342  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  most  quiet  and  gentleman-like  of  landlords,  a  great 
deal  more  gentleman-like  in  manner  and  appearance 
than  most  of  us  who  sat  at  his  table,  and  smoked  cool 
pipes  on  his  house-top,  as  we  looked  over  the  hill  and  the 
Russian  palace  to  the  water,  and  the  Seraglio  gardens 
shining  in  the  blue.  We  confronted  Misseri,  "  Eothen  " 
in  hand,  and  found,  on  examining  him,  that  it  was  "  aut 
Diabolus  aut  amicus  " — but  the  name  is  a  secret;  I  will 
never  breathe  it,  though  I  am  dying  to  tell  it. 

The  last  good  description  of  a  Turkish  bath,  I  think, 
was  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu's— which  volup- 
tuous picture  must  have  been  painted  at  least  a  hundred 
and  thirty  years  ago:  so  that  another  sketch  may  be  at- 
tempted by  a  humbler  artist  in  a  different  manner.  The 
Turkish  bath  is  certainly  a  novel  sensation  to  an  Eng- 
lishman, and  may  be  set  down  as  a  most  queer  and  sur- 
prising event  of  his  life.  I  made  the  valet-de-place  or 
dragoman  (it  is  rather  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  dragoman 
in  one's  service)  conduct  me  forthwith  to  the  best  ap- 
pointed hummums  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  we  walked 
to  a  house  at  Tophana,  and  into  a  spacious  hall  lighted 
from  above,  which  is  the  cooling-room  of  the  bath. 

The  spacious  hall  has  a  large  fountain  in  the  midst, 
a  painted  gallery  running  round  it;  and  many  ropes 
stretched  from  one  gallery  to  another,  ornamented  with 
profuse  draperies  of  towels  and  blue  cloths,  for  the  use 
of  the  frequenters  of  the  place.  All  round  the  room 
and  the  galleries  were  matted  inclosures,  fitted  with 
numerous  neat  beds  and  cushions  for  reposing  on,  where 
lay  a  dozen  of  true  believers  smoking,  or  sleeping,  or  in 
the  happy  half -dozing  state.  I  was  led  up  to  one  of 
these  beds,  to  rather  a  retired  corner,  in  consideration  of 
my  modesty ;  and  to  the  next  bed  presently  came  a  dan- 


A  TURKISH  BATH  343 

cing  dervish,  who  forthwith  hegan  to  prepare  for  the 
bath. 

When  the  dancing  dervish  had  taken  off  his  yellow 
sugar-loaf  cap,  his  gown,  shawl,  &:c.,  he  was  arrayed  in 
two  large  blue  cloths;  a  white  one  being  thrown  over 
his  shoulders,  and  another  in  the  shape  of  a  turban  plaited 
neatly  round  his  head;  the  garments  of  which  he  di- 
vested himself  were  folded  up  in  another  linen,  and 
neatly  put  by.  I  beg  leave  to  state  I  was  treated  in 
precisety  the  same  manner  as  the  dancing  dervish. 

The  reverend  gentleman  then  put  on  a  pair  of  wooden 
pattens,  which  elevated  him  about  six  inches  from  the 
ground ;  and  walked  down  the  stairs,  and  paddled  across 
the  moist  marble  floor  of  the  hall,  and  in  at  a  little  door, 
by  the  which  also  Titmarsh  entered.  But  I  had  none 
of  the  professional  agility  of  the  dancing  dervish;  I 
staggered  about  very  ludicrously  upon  the  high  wooden 
pattens ;  and  should  have  been  down  on  my  nose  several 
times,  had  not  the  dragoman  and  the  master  of  the  bath 
supported  me  down  the  stairs  and  across  the  hall. 
Dressed  in  three  large  cotton  napkins,  with  a  white  tur- 
ban round  my  head,  I  thought  of  Pall  ^lall  with  a  sort 
of  despair.  I  passed  the  little  door,  it  was  closed  behind 
me— I  was  in  the  dark— I  couldn't  speak  the  language 
—in  a  white  turban.  Mon  Dieu!  what  was  going  to 
happen! 

The  dark  room  was  the  tepidarium,  a  moist  oozing 
arched  den,  with  a  light  faintly  streaming  from  an 
orifice  in  the  domed  ceiling.  Yells  of  frantic  laughter 
and  song  came  booming  and  clanging  through  the  echo- 
ing arches,  the  doors  clapped  to  with  loud  reverberations. 
It  was  the  laughter  of  the  followers  of  Mahound,  rol- 
licking and  taking  their  pleasure  in  the  public  bath.    I 


344  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

could  not  go  into  that  place:  I  swore  I  would  not;  they 
promised  me  a  private  room,  and  the  dragoman  left  me. 
My  agony  at  parting  from  that  Christian  cannot  be 
described. 

When  you  get  into  the  sudarium,  or  hot  room,  your 
first  sensations  only  occur  about  half  a  minute  after 
entrance,  when  you  feel  that  you  are  choking.  I  found 
myself  in  that  state,  seated  on  a  marble  slab;  the  bath 
man  was  gone;  he  had  taken  away  the  cotton  turban 
and  shoulder-shawl:  I  saw  I  was  in  a  narrow  room  of 
marble,  with  a  vaulted  roof,  and  a  fountain  of  warm 
and  cold  water ;  the  atmosphere  was  in  a  steam,  the  chok- 
ing sensation  went  off,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  pleasure  pres- 
ently in  a  soft  boiling  simmer,  w^hich,  no  doubt,  potatoes 
feel  when  they  are  steaming.  You  are  left  in  this  state 
for  about  ten  minutes;  it  is  warm  certainly,  but  odd 
and  pleasant,  and  disposes  the  mind  to  reverie. 

But  let  any  delicate  mind  in  Baker  Street  fancy  my 
horror,  when,  on  looking  up  out  of  this  reverie,  I  saw 
a  great  brown  wretch  extended  before  me,  only  half 
dressed,  standing  on  pattens,  and  exaggerated  by  them 
and  the  steam  until  he  looked  like  an  ogre,  grinning  in 
the  most  horrible  way,  and  waving  his  arm,  on  which 
was  a  horsehair  glove.  He  spoke,  in  his  unknown  nasal 
jargon,  words  which  echoed  through  the  arched  room; 
his  eyes  seemed  astonishingly  large  and  bright,  his  ears 
stuck  out,  and  his  head  was  all  shaved,  except  a  bristling 
top-knot,  which  gave  it  a  demoniac  fierceness. 

This  description,  I  feel,  is  growing  too  frightful; 
ladies  who  read  it  wdll  be  going  into  hysterics,  or  saying, 
"  Well,  upon  my  word,  this  is  the  most  singular,  the 
most  extraordinary  kind  of  language.  Jane,  my  love, 
you  will  not  read  that  odious  book  " — and  so  I  will  be 


A  TURKISH  BATH  345 

brief.  This  grinning  man  belabours  the  patient  vio- 
lently with  the  horse  brush.  When  he  has  completed 
the  horse-hair  part,  and  you  lie  expiring  under  a  squirt- 
ing fountain  of  warm  water,  and  fancying  all  is  done, 
he  reappears  with  a  large  brass  basin,  containing  a 
quantity  of  lather,  in  the  midst  of  which  is  something 
like  old  Miss  MacWhirter's  flaxen  wig  that  she  is  so 
proud  of,  and  that  w^e  have  all  laughed  at.  Just  as  you 
are  going  to  remonstrate,  the  thing  like  the  wig  is 
dashed  into  your  face  and  eyes,  covered  over  with  soap, 
and  for  five  minutes  you  are  drowned  in  lather:  you 
can't  see,  the  suds  are  frothing  over  your  eyeballs;  you 
can't  hear,  the  soap  is  whizzing  into  your  ears;  can't 
gasp  for  breath,  Miss  MacWhirter's  wig  is  down  your 
throat  with  half  a  pailful  of  suds  in  an  instant — you  are 
all  soap.  Wicked  children  in  former  days  have  jeered 
you,  exclaiming,  "  How  are  you  off  for  soap?  "  You 
little  knew  what  saponacity  was  till  you  entered  a  Turk- 
ish bath. 

When  the  whole  operation  is  concluded,  j^ou  are  led 
— with  what  heartfelt  joy  I  need  not  say — softly  back 
to  the  cooling-room,  having  been  robed  in  shawls  and 
turbans  as  before.  You  are  laid  gently  on  the  repos- 
ing bed;  somebody  brings  a  narghile,  which  tastes  as 
tobacco  must  taste  in  jNIahomet's  Paradise ;  a  cool  sweet 
dreamy  languor  takes  possession  of  the  purified  frame; 
and  half  an  hour  of  such  delicious  laziness  is  spent  over 
the  pipe  as  is  unknown  in  Europe,  where  vulgar  prej- 
udice has  most  shamefully  maligned  indolence,  calls  it 
foul  names,  such  as  the  father  of  all  evil,  and  the  like; 
in  fact,  does  not  know  how  to  educate  idleness  as  those 
honest  Turks  do,  and  the  fruit  which,  when  properly 
cultivated,  it  bears. 


346  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  after-bath  state  is  the  most  delightful  condition 
of  laziness  I  ever  knew,  and  I  tried  it  wherever  we  went 
afterwards  on  our  little  tour.  At  Smyrna  the  whole 
business  was  much  inferior  to  the  method  employed  in 
the  capital.  At  Cairo,  after  the  soap,  you  are  plunged 
into  a  sort  of  stone  coffin,  full  of  water,  which  is  all 
but  boiling.  This  has  its  charms;  but  I  could  not  rel- 
ish the  Egyptian  shampooing.  A  hideous  old  blind 
man  (but  very  dexterous  in  his  art)  tried  to  break  my 
back  and  dislocate  my  shoulders,  but  I  could  not  see 
the  pleasure  of  the  practice;  and  another  fellow  began 
tickling  the  soles  of  my  feet,  but  I  rewarded  him  with 
a  kick  that  sent  him  off  the  bench.  The  pure  idleness 
is  the  best,  and  I  shall  never  enjoy  such  in  Europe 
again. 

A'^ictor  Hugo,  in  his  famous  travels  on  the  Rhine,  visit- 
ing Cologne,  gives  a  learned  account  of  what  he  didnt  see 
there.  I  have  a  remarkable  catalogue  of  similar  ob- 
jects at  Constantinople.  I  didn't  see  the  dancing  der- 
vishes, it  was  Ramazan;  nor  the  howling  dervishes  at 
Scutari,  it  was  Ramazan ;  nor  the  interior  of  St.  Sophia, 
nor  the  women's  apartment  of  the  Seraglio,  nor  the 
fashionable  promenade  at  the  Sweet  Waters,  alwaj^s  be- 
cause it  was  Ramazan;  during  which  period  the  der- 
vishes dance  and  howl  but  rarely,  their  legs  and  lungs 
being  unequal  to  much  exertion  during  a  fast  of  fifteen 
hours.  On  account  of  the  same  hoh^  season,  the  royal 
palaces  and  mosques  are  shut ;  and  though  the  valley  of 
the  Sweet  Waters  is  there,  no  one  goes  to  w^alk;  the 
people  remaining  asleep  all  day,  and  passing  the  night 
in  feasting  and  carousing.  The  minarets  are  illuminated 
at  this  season;  even  the  humblest  mosque  at  Jerusalem, 
or  Jaffa,  mounted  a  few  circles  of  dingy  lamps;  those 


THE  SULTAN  347 

of  the  capital  were  handsomely  lighted  with  many  fes- 
toons of  lamps,  which  had  a  fine  effect  from  the  water. 
I  need  not  mention  other  and  constant  illuminations 
of  the  city,  which  innumerahle  travellers  have  described 
—  I  mean  the  fires.  There  were  three  in  Pera  during 
our  eight  days'  stay  there;  but  they  did  not  last  long 
enough  to  bring  the  Sultan  out  of  bed  to  come  and  lend 
his  aid.  ]Mr.  Hobhouse  (quoted  in  the  "  Guide-book  ") 
says,  if  a  fire  lasts  an  hour,  the  Sultan  is  bound  to  attend 
it  in  person;  and  that  people  having  petitions  to  pre- 
sent, have  often  set  houses  on  fire  for  the  j^urpose  of 
forcing  out  this  royal  trump.  The  Sultan  can't  lead 
a  very  "  jolly  life,"  if  this  rule  be  universal.  Fancy  his 
Highness,  in  the  midst  of  his  moon-faced  beauties,  hand- 
kerchief in  hand,  and  obliged  to  tie  it  round  his  face,  and 
go  out  of  his  warm  harem  at  midnight  at  the  cursed  cry 
of  "YangenVar!" 

We  saw  his  Highness  in  the  midst  of  his  people  and 
their  petitions,  when  he  came  to  the  mosque  at  Tophana ; 
not  the  largest,  but  one  of  the  most  f)icturesque  of  the 
public  buildings  of  the  city.  The  streets  were  crowded 
with  people  watching  for  the  august  arrival,  and  lined 
with  the  squat  military  in  their  bastard  European  cos- 
tume; the  sturdy  police,  with  bandeliers  and  brown  sur- 
touts,  keeping  order,  driving  off  the  faithful  from  the 
railings  of  the  Esplanade  through  which  their  Em- 
peror was  to  pass,  and  only  admitting  (with  a  very  unjust 
partiality,  I  thought)  us  Europeans  into  that  reserved 
space.  Before  the  august  arrival,  numerous  officers 
collected,  colonels  and  pashas  went  by  with  their  atten- 
dant running  footmen;  the  most  active,  insolent,  and 
hideous  of  these  great  men,  as  I  thought,  being  his 
Highness's  black  eunuchs,  who  went  prancing  through 


348  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  crowd,  which  separated  before  them  with  every  sign 
of  respect. 

The  common  women  were  assembled  by  many  hun- 
dreds :  the  yakmac,  a  nmshn  chin-cloth  which  they  wear, 
makes  almost  every  face  look  the  same;  but  the  eyes 
and  noses  of  these  beauties  are  generally  visible,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  both  these  features  are  good.  The 
jolly  negresses  wear  the  same  white  veil,  but  they  are  by 
no  means  so  particular  about  hiding  the  charms  of  their 
good-natured  black  faces,  and  thej^  let  the  cloth  blow 
about  as  it  lists,  and  grin  unconfined.  Wherever  we  went 
the  negroes  seemed  happy.  They  have  the  organ  of  child- 
loving;  little  creatures  were  always  prattling  on  their 
shoulders,  queer  little  things  in  night-gowns  of  j^ellow 
dimity,  with  great  flowers,  and  pink,,  or  red,  or  yellow 
shawls,  with  great  eyes  glistening  underneath.  Of 
such  the  black  women  seemed  always  the  happ}'^  guar- 
dians. I  saw  one  at  a  fountain,  holding  one  child  in 
her  arms,  and  giving  another  a  drink — a  ragged  little 
beggar — a  sweet  and  touching  picture  of  a  black  charity. 

I  am  almost  forgetting  his  Highness  the  Sultan. 
About  a  hundred  guns  were  fired  off  at  clumsy  intervals 
from  the  Esplanade  facing  the  Bosphorus,  warning  us 
that  the  monarch  had  set  off  from  his  Summer  Palace, 
and  was  on  the  way  to  his  grand  canoe.  At  last  that 
vessel  made  its  appearance;  the  band  struck  up  his  fa- 
vourite air;  his  caparisoned  horse  was  led  down  to  tlie 
shore  to  receive  him;  the  eunuchs,  fat  pashas,  colonels, 
and  officers  of  state  gathering  round  as  the  Commander 
of  the  Faithful  mounted.  I  had  the  indescribable  hap- 
piness of  seeing  him  at  a  very  short  distance.  The 
Padishah,  or  Father  of  all  the  Sovereigns  on  earth,  has 
not  that  majestic  air  which  some  sovereigns  possess,  and 


THE  SULTAN  349 

which  makes  the  beholder's  eyes  wink,  and  his  knees 
tremble  under  him:  he  has  a  black  beard,  and  a  hand- 
some well-bred  face,  of  a  French  cast;  he  looks  like  a 
young  French  roue  worn  out  by  debauch;  his  eyes 
bright,  with  black  rings  round  them;  his  cheeks  pale 
and  hollow.  He  was  lolling  on  his  horse  as  if  he  could 
hardly  hold  himself  on  the  saddle :  or  as  if  his  cloak,  fas- 
tened with  a  blazing  diamond  clasp  on  his  breast,  and 
falling  over  his  horse's  tail,  pulled  him  back.  But  the 
handsome  sallow  face  of  the  Refuge  of  the  World 
looked  decidedly  interesting  and  intellectual.  I  have 
seen  manj''  a  young  Don  Juan  at  Paris,  behind  a  coun- 
ter, with  such  a  beard  and  countenance;  the  flame  of 
passion  still  burning  in  his  hollow  eyes,  wliile  on  his 
damp  brow  was  stamped  the  fatal  mark  of  premature 
decaJ^  The  man  we  saw  cannot  live  many  summers. 
Women  and  wine  are  said  to  have  brought  the  Zilullah 
to  this  state;  and  it  is  whispered  by  the  dragomans,  or 
laquais-de-j^lace,  (from  whom  travellers  at  Constanti- 
noj^le  generally  get  their  political  information,)  that 
the  Sultan's  mother  and  his  ministers  conspire  to  keep 
him  plunged  in  sensuality,  that  they  may  govern  the 
kingdom  according  to  their  own  fancies.  Mr.  Urqu- 
hart,  I  am  sure,  thinks  that  Lord  Palmerston  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  business,  and  drugs  the  Sultan's 
champagne  for  the  benefit  of  Russia. 

As  the  Pontiff  of  Mussulmans  passed  into  the 
mosque,  a  shower  of  petitions  was  flung  from  the  steps 
where  the  crowd  was  collected,  and  over  the  heads  of 
the  gendarmes  in  brown.  A  general  cry,  as  for  justice, 
rose  up;  and  one  old  ragged  woman  came  forward  and 
burst  through  the  throng,  howling,  and  flinging  about 
her  lean  arms,  and  baring  her  old  shrunken  breast.     I 


o 


50  JOURNEY  FRO]M  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 


never  saw  a  finer  action  of  tragic  woe,  or  heard  sounds 
more  pitiful  than  those  old  passionate  groans  of  hers. 
What  was  your  prayer,  j^oor  old  wretched  soul?  The 
gendarmes  hemmed  her  round,  and  hustled  her  away, 
but  rather  kindly.  The  Padishah  went  on  quite  im- 
passible— the  picture  of  debauch  and  ennui. 

I  like  pointing  morals,  and  inventing  for  myself 
cheap  consolations,  to  reconcile  me  to  that  state  of  life 
into  which  it  has  pleased  heaven  to  call  me;  and  as  the 
Light  of  the  World  disappeared  round  the  corner,  I 
reasoned  pleasantly  with  myself  about  his  Highness, 
and  enjoyed  that  secret  selfish  satisfaction  a  man 
has,  who  sees  he  is  better  off  than  his  neighbour. 
"  INIichael  Angelo,"  I  said,  "  you  are  still  (b}^  courtesy) 
young:  if  you  had  five  hundred  thousand  a  year,  and 
were  a  great  prince,  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  men  would 
discover  in  you  a  magnificent  courtesy  of  demeanour, 
and  a  majestic  presence  that  only  belongs  to  the 
sovereigns  of  the  world.  If  you  had  such  an  income, 
you  think  you  could  spend  it  with  splendour!  distrib- 
uting genial  hospitalities,  kindly  alms,  soothing  misery, 
bidding  humility  be  of  good  heart,  rewarding  desert. 
If  you  had  such  means  of  purchasing  pleasure,  you 
think,  }"ou  rogue,  }'ou  could  relish  it  with  gusto.  But 
fanc}^  being  brought  to  the  condition  of  the  poor  Light 
of  the  L^niverse  vonder;  and  reconcile  yourself  with 
the  idea  that  you  are  only  a  farthing  rushlight.  The 
cries  of  the  poor  widow  fall  as  dead  upon  him  as  the 
smiles  of  the  brightest  eyes  out  of  Georgia.  He  can't 
stir  abroad  but  those  abominable  cannon  begin  roaring 
and  deafening  his  ears.  He  can't  see  the  world  but  over 
the  shoulders  of  a  row  of  fat  pashas,  and  eunuchs,  with 
their  infernal  ugliness.    His  ears  can  never  be  regaled 


THE  ROYAL  MAUSOLEUM  351 

with  a  word  of  truth,  or  blessed  with  an  honest  laugh. 
The  only  privilege  of  manhood  left  to  him,  he  enjoys 
but  for  a  month  in  the  year,  at  this  time  of  Ramazan, 
when  he  is  forced  to  fast  for  fifteen  hours ;  and,  by  con- 
sequence, has  the  blessing  of  feeling  hungry."  Sunset 
during  Lent  appears  to  be  his  single  moment  of  pleas- 
ure; they  say  the  poor  fellow  is  ravenous  by  that  time, 
and  as  the  gun  fires  the  dish-covers  are  taken  off,  so 
that  for  five  minutes  a  daj^  he  lives  and  is  happy  over 
pillau,  like  another  mortal. 

And  yet,  when  floating  bj^  the  Summer  Palace,  a  bar- 
baric edifice  of  wood  and  marble,  with  gilded  suns  blaz- 
ing over  the  porticoes,  and  all  sorts  of  strange  orna- 
ments and  trophies  figuring  on  the  gates  and  railings 
— when  we  passed  a  long  row  of  barred  and  filigreed 
windows,  looking  on  the  water — when  we  were  told  that 
those  were  the  apartments  of  his  Highness's  ladies,  and 
actually  heard  them  whispering  and  laughing  behind 
the  bars — a  strange  feeling  of  curiosity  came  over  some 
ill-regulated  minds — just  to  have  one  peep,  one  look  at 
all  those  wondrous  beauties,  singing  to  the  dulcimers, 
paddling  in  the  fountains,  dancing  in  the  marble  halls, 
or  lolling  on  the  golden  cushions,  as  the  gaud}^  black 
slaves  brought  pipes  and  coffee.  This  tumultuous  move- 
ment was  calmed  by  thinking  of  that  dreadful  state- 
ment of  travellers,  that  in  one  of  the  most  elegant  halls 
there  is  a  trap-door,  on  peeping  below  which  you  may 
see  the  Bosphorus  running  underneath,  into  which  some 
luckless  beauty  is  plunged  occasionally,  and  the  trap- 
door is  shut,  and  the  dancing  and  the  singing,  and  the 
smoking  and  the  laughing  go  on  as  before.  They  say 
it  is  death  to  pick  up  any  of  the  sacks  thereabouts,  if  a 
stray  one  should  float  by  you.     There  were  none  any 


352  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

day  when  I  passed,  at  leasts  on  the  surface  of  the 
water. 

It  has  been  rather  a  fashion  of  our  travellers  to  apolo- 
gize for  Turkish  life,  of  late,  and  paint  glowing,  agree- 
able pictures  of  many  of  its  institutions.  The  cele- 
brated author  of  "  Palm-Leaves  "  (his  name  is  famous 
under  the  date-trees  of  the  Nile,  and  uttered  with  re- 
spect beneath  the  tents  of  the  Bedaween,)  has  touch- 
ingly  described  Ibrahim  Pasha's  paternal  fondness,  who 
cut  off  a  black  slave's  head  for  having  dropped  and 
maimed  one  of  his  children ;  and  has  penned  a  melodious 
panegyric  of  "  The  Harem,"  and  of  the  fond  and  beau- 
tiful duties  of  the  inmates  of  that  place  of  love,  obe- 
dience, and  seclusion.  I  saw,  at  the  mausoleum  of  the 
late  Sultan  Mahmoud's  family,  a  good  subject  for  a 
Ghazul,  in  the  true  new  Oriental  manner. 

These  royal  burial-places  are  the  resort  of  the  pious 
Moslems.  Lamps  are  kept  burning  there;  and  in  the 
antechambers,  copies  of  the  Koran  are  provided  for  the 
use  of  believers;  and  j^'ou  never  pass  these  cemeteries 
but  you  see  Turks  washing  at  the  cisterns,  previous  to 
entering  for  prayer,  or  squatted  on  the  benches,  chant- 
ing passages  from  the  sacred  volume.  Christians,  I  be- 
lieve, are  not  admitted,  but  may  look  through  the  bars, 
and  see  the  coffins  of  the  defunct  monarchs  and  children 
of  the  royal  race.  Each  lies  in  his  narrow  sarcophagus, 
which  is  commonly  flanked  by  huge  candles,  and  covered 
with  a  rich  embroidered  pall.  At  the  head  of  each 
coffin  rises  a  slab,  with  a  gilded  inscription ;  for  the  prin- 
cesses, the  slab  is  simple,  not  unlike  our  own  monu- 
mental stones.  The  head-stones  of  the  tombs  of  the 
defunct  princes  are  decorated  with  a  turban,  or,  since 
the  introduction  of  the  latter  article  of  dress,  with  the 


THE   CHILD-MURDERER  353 

red  fez.  That  of  Mahmoud  is  decorated  with  the  im- 
perial aigrette. 

In  this  dismal  but  splendid  museum,  I  remarked  two 
little  tombs  with  little  red  fezzes,  very  small,  and  for 
very  young  heads  evidently,  which  were  lying  under  the 
little  embroidered  palls  of  state.  I  forget  whether  they 
had  candles  too;  but  their  little  flame  of  life  was  soon 
extinguished,  and  there  was  no  need  of  many  pounds 
of  wax  to  typify  it.  These  were  the  tombs  of  Mah- 
moud's  grandsons,  nephews  of  the  present  Light  of  the 
Universe,  and  children  of  his  sister,  the  wife  of  Halil 
Pacha.  Little  children  die  in  all  ways;  these  of  the 
much-maligned  INIahometan  royal  race  perish  by  the 
bowstring.  Sultan  Mahmoud  (may  he  rest  in  glory!) 
strangled  the  one;  but,  having  some  spark  of  human 
feeling,  was  so  moved  by  the  wretchedness  and  agony 
of  the  poor  bereaved  mother,  his  daughter,  that  his 
royal  heart  relented  towards  her,  and  he  promised  that, 
should  she  ever  have  another  child,  it  should  be  allowed 
to  live.  He  died;  and  Abdul  Med j id  (may  his  name 
be  blessed !) ,  the  debauched  young  man  whom  we  just  saw 
riding  to  the  mosque,  succeeded.  His  sister,  whom  he  is 
said  to  have  loved,  became  again  a  mother,  and  had  a  son. 
But  she  relied  upon  her  father's  word  and  her  august 
brother's  love,  and  hoped  that  this  little  one  should  be 
spared.  The  same  accursed  hand  tore  this  infant  out  of 
its  mother's  bosom,  and  killed  it.  The  poor  woman's 
heart  broke  outright  at  this  second  calamity,  and  she 
died.  But  on  her  death-bed  she  sent  for  her  brother,  re- 
buked him  as  a  perjurer  and  an  assassin,  and  expired 
calling  down  the  divine  justice  on  his  head.  She  lies 
now  by  the  side  of  the  two  little  fezzes. 

Now  I  say  this  would  be  a  fine  subject  for  an  Oriental 


354  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

poem.  The  details  are  dramatic  and  noble,  and  could  be 
grandly  touched  by  a  fine  artist.  If  the  mother  had 
borne  a  daughter,  the  child  would  haye  been  safe;  that 
perplexity  might  be  pathetically  depicted  as  agitating 
the  bosom  of  the  j^oung  wife,  about  to  become  a  mother. 
A  son  is  born:  you  can  see  her  despair  and  the  pitiful 
look  she  casts  on  the  child,  and  the  waj^  in  which  she 
hugs  it  every  time  the  curtains  of  her  door  are  removed. 
The  Sultan  hesitated  probably;  he  allowed  the  infant  to 
live  for  six  weeks.  He  could  not  bring  his  royal  soul 
to  inflict  pain.  He  yields  at  last;  he  is  a  martyr — to 
be  pitied,  not  to  be  blamed.  If  he  melts  at  his  daugh- 
ter's agony,  he  is  a  man  and  a  father.  There  are  men 
and  fathers  too  in  the  much  maligned  Orient. 

Then  comes  the  second  act  of  the  tragedy.  The  new 
hopes,  the  fond  yearnings,  the  terrified  misgivings,  the 
timid  belief,  and  weak  confidence;  the  child  that  is  born 
— and  dies  smiling  prettily — and  the  mother's  heart  is 
rent  so,  that  it  can  love,  or  hope,  or  suffer  no  more. 
Allah  is  God!  She  sleeps  by  the  little  fezzes.  Hark! 
the  guns  are  booming  over  the  water,  and  his  Highness 
is  coming  from  his  prayers. 

After  the  murder  of  that  little  child,  it  seems  to  me 
one  can  never  look  with  anything  but  horror  upon  the 
butcherly  Herod  who  ordered  it.  The  death  of  the  sev- 
enty thousand  Janissaries  ascends  to  historic  dignity, 
and  takes  rank  as  war.  But  a  great  Prince  and  Light 
of  the  Universe,  who  procures  abortions  and  throttles 
little  babies,  dwindles  away  into  such  a  frightful  insig- 
nificance of  crime,  that  those  may  respect  him  who  will. 
I  pity  their  Excellencies  the  Ambassadors,  who  are 
obliged  to  smirk  and  cringe  to  such  a  rascal.  To  do 
the  Turks  justice — and  two  days^  walk  in  Constanti- 


THE  ATMEIDAN  355 

nople  will  settle  this  fact  as  well  as  a  year's  residence 
in  the  city — the  people  do  not  seem  in  the  least  animated 
by  this  Herodian  spirit.  I  never  saw  more  kindness  to 
children  than  among  all  classes,  more  fathers  walking 
about  with  little  solemn  Mahometans  in  red  caps  and 
big  trousers,  more  business  going  on  than  in  the  toy 
quarter,  and  in  the  Atmeidan.  Altliough  you  may  see 
there  the  Thebaic  stone  set  up  by  the  Emperor  Theo- 
dosius,  and  the  bronze  column  of  serpents  which  INIur- 
ray  saj^s  was  brought  from  Delphi,  but  which  my  guide 
informed  me  was  the  very  one  exhibited  by  Moses  in  the 
wilderness,  yet  I  found  the  examination  of  these  anti- 
quities much  less  pleasant  than  to  look  at  the  many 
troops  of  childi'en  assembled  on  the  plain  to  play;  and 
to  watch  them  as  they  were  dragged  about  in  little  queer 
arobas,  or  painted  carriages,  which  are  there  kept  for  hire. 
I  have  a  picture  of  one  of  them  now  in  my  eyes :  a  little 
green  oval  machine,  with  flowers  rudely  painted  round 
the  window,  out  of  which  two  smiling  heads  are  peeping, 
the  pictures  of  happiness.  An  old,  good-humoured,  grey- 
bearded  Turk  is  tugging  the  cart;  and  behind  it  walks 
a  lady  in  a  yakmac  and  yellow  slippers,  and  a  black 
female  slave,  grinning  as  usual,  towards  whom  the  little 
coach-riders  are  looking.  A  small,  sturdy,  barefooted 
INIussulman  is  examining  the  cart  with  some  feelings 
of  envy:  he  is  too  poor  to  purchase  a  ride  for  himself 
and  the  round-faced  pujjpj^-dog,  which  he  is  hugging  in 
his  arms  as  young  ladies  in  our  country  do  dolls. 

All  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Atmeidan  is  exceed- 
ingly picturesque— the  mosque  court  and  cloister,  where 
the  Persians  have  their  stalls  of  sweetmeats  and  tobacco ; 
a  superb  sycamore-tree  grows  in  the  middle  of  this,  over- 
shadowing an  aromatic  fountain;  great  flocks  of  pi- 


356  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

geons  are  settling  in  corners  of  the  cloister,  and  barley 
is  sold  at  the  gates,  with  which  the  good-natured  peojDle 
feed  them.  From  the  Atmeidan  you  have  a  fine  view  of 
St.  Sophia:  and  here  stands  a  mosque  which  struck  me 
as  being  much  more  picturesque  and  sumptuous — the 
Mosque  of  Sultan  Achmed,  with  its  six  gleaming  white 
minarets  and  its  beautiful  courts  and  trees.  Any  in- 
fidels may  enter  the  court  without  molestation,  and, 
looking  through  the  barred  windows  of  the  mosque,  have 
a  view  of  its  airy  and  spacious  interior.  A  small  audi- 
ence of  women  was  collected  there  when  I  looked  in, 
squatted  on  the  mats,  and  listening  to  a  preacher,  who 
was  walking  among  them,  and  speaking  with  great 
energy.  M}''  dragoman  interpreted  to  me  the  sense  of  a 
few  words  of  his  sermon:  he  was  warning  them  of  the 
danger  of  gadding  about  to  public  places,  and  of  the 
immorality  of  too  much  talking;  and,  I  dare  say,  we 
might  have  had  more  valuable  information  from  him  re- 
garding the  follies  of  womankind,  had  not  a  tall  Turk 
clapped  my  interpreter  on  the  shoulder,  and  pointed 
him  to  be  off. 

Although  the  ladies  are  veiled,  and  muffled  with  the 
ugliest  dresses  in  the  world,  yet  it  appears  their  mod- 
esty is  alarmed  in  spite  of  all  the  coverings  which  they 
wear.  One  day,  in  the  bazaar,  a  fat  old  body,  with  dia- 
mond rings  on  her  fingers,  that  were  tinged  with  henne 
of  a  logwood  colour,  came  to  the  shop  where  I  was  pur- 
chasing slippers,  with  her  son,  a  young  Aga  of  six  years 
of  age,  dressed  in  a  braided  frock-coat,  with  a  huge  tassel 
to  his  fez,  exceeding  fat,  and  of  a  most  solemn  demean- 
our. The  young  Aga  came  for  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  his 
contortions  were  so  delightful  as  he  tried  them,  that  I  re- 
mained looking  on  with  great  pleasure,   wishing  for 


MODESTY  357 

Leech  to  be  at  hand  to  sketch  his  lordship  and  his  fat 
mamma,  who  sat  on  the  counter.  That  lady  fancied 
I  was  looking  at  her,  though,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  she 
had  the  figure  and  complexion  of  a  roly-poly  pudding; 
and  so,  with  quite  a  premature  bashfulness,  she  sent  me 
a  message  by  the  shoemaker,  ordering  me  to  walk  away 
if  I  had  made  my  purchases,  for  that  ladies  of  her  rank 
did  not  choose  to  be  stared  at  by  strangers;  and  I  was 
obliged  to  take  my  leave,  though  with  sincere  regret,  for 
the  little  lord  had  just  squeezed  himself  into  an  attitude 
than  which  I  never  saw  anything  more  ludicrous  in  Gen- 
eral Tom  Thumb,  When  the  ladies  of  the  Seraglio 
come  to  that  bazaar  with  their  cortege  of  infernal  black 
eunuchs,  strangers  are  told  to  move  on  briskly.  I  saw 
a  bevy  of  about  eight  of  these,  with  their  aides-de-camp ; 
but  they  were  wrapped  up,  and  looked  just  as  vulgar  and 
ugly  as  the  other  women,  and  were  not,  I  suppose,  of  the 
most  beautiful  sort.  The  poor  devils  are  allowed  to  come 
out,  half-a-dozen  times  in  the  year,  to  spend  their  little 
wretched  allowance  of  pocket-money  in  purchasing 
trinkets  and  tobacco;  all  the  rest  of  the  time  they  pur- 
sue the  beautiful  duties  of  their  existence  in  the  walls  of 
the  sacred  harem. 

Though  strangers  are  not  allowed  to  see  the  interior 
of  the  cage  in  which  these  birds  of  Paradise  are  con- 
fined, yet  many  parts  of  the  Seraglio  are  free  to  the 
curiosity  of  visitors,  who  choose  to  drop  a  backsheesh 
here  and  there.  I  landed  one  morning  at  the  Seraglio 
point  from  Galata,  close  by  an  ancient  pleasure-house 
of  the  defunct  Sultan;  a  vast  broad-brimmed  pavihon, 
that  looks  agreeable  enough  to  be  a  dancing-room  for 
ghosts  now:  there  is  another  summer-house,  the  Guide- 
hook  cheerfully  says,  whither  the  Sultan  goes  to  sport 


358  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

with  his  women  and  mutes.  A  regiment  of  infantry, 
with  their  music  at  their  head,  were  marching  to  exer- 
cise in  the  outer  grounds  of  the  Seragho;  and  we  fol- 
lowed them,  and  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  their 
evolutions,  and  hearing  their  bands,  upon  a  fine  green 
plain  under  the  Seraglio  walls,  where  stands  one  soli- 
tar}^  column,  erected  in  memorj^  of  some  triumph  of 
some  Byzantian  emperor. 

There  were  three  battalions  of  the  Turkish  infantry 
exercising  here ;  and  they  seemed  to  perform  their  evolu- 
tions in  a  very  satisfactory  manner:  that  is,  they  fired 
all  together,  and  charged  and  halted  in  very  straight 
lines,  and  bit  off  imaginary  cartridge-tops  with  great 
fierceness  and  regularity,  and  made  all  their  ramrods 
ring  to  measure,  just  like  so  many  Christians.  The  men 
looked  small,  young,  clumsy,  and  ill-built;  uncomfort- 
able in  their  shabby  European  clothes;  and  about  the 
legs,  especially,  seemed  exceedingly  weak  and  ill- 
formed.  Some  score  of  military  invalids  were  lolling  in 
the  sunshine,  about  a  fountain  and  a  marble  summer- 
house  that  stand  on  the  ground,  watching  their  com- 
rades' manoeuvres  (as  if  they  could  never  have  enough 
of  that  delightful  pastime)  ;  and  these  sick  were  much 
better  cared  for  than  tlieir  healthy  companions.  Each 
man  had  two  dressing-gowns,  one  of  white  cotton,  and 
an  outer  wrapper  of  warm  brown  woollen.  Their  heads 
were  accommodated  with  wadded  cotton  night-caps; 
and  it  seemed  to  me,  from  their  condition  and  from  the 
excellent  character  of  the  military  hospitals,  that  it 
would  be  much  more  wholesome  to  be  ill  tlian  to  be  well 
in  the  Turkish  service. 

Facing  this  green  esplanade,  and  the  Bosphorus  shin- 
ing beyond  it,  rise  the  great  walls  of  the  outer  Seraglio 


THE   SERAGLIO   GARDENS  359 

Gardens:  huge  masses  of  ancient  masonry,  over  which 
peep  the  roofs  of  numerous  kiosks  and  outhouses, 
amongst  thick  evergreens,  planted  so  as  to  hide  the  beau- 
tiful frequenters  of  the  place  from  the  prying  eyes  and 
telescopes.  We  could  not  catch  a  glance  of  a  single 
figure  moving  in  these  great  pleasure-grounds.  The 
road  winds  round  the  walls;  and  the  outer  park,  Avhich 
is  likewise  planted  with  trees,  and  diversified  bj^  garden- 
plots  and  cottages,  had  more  the  air  of  the  outbuildings 
of  a  homely  English  park,  than  of  a  palace  which  we 
must  all  have  imagined  to  be  the  most  statety  in  the 
world.  The  most  commonplace  water-carts  were  pass- 
ing here  and  there;  roads  were  being  repaired  in  the 
Macadamite  manner;  and  carpenters  were  mending  the 
park-palings,  just  as  they  do  in  Hampshire.  The  next 
thing  you  might  fancy  would  be  the  Sultan  walking  out 
with  a  spud  and  a  couple  of  dogs,  on  the  way  to  meet 
the  post-bag  and  the  Saint  Jameses  Chronicle. 

The  palace  is  no  palace  at  all.  It  is  a  great  town  of 
pavilions,  built  without  order,  here  and  there,  according 
to  the  fancy  of  succeeding  Lights  of  the  Universe,  or 
their  favourites.  The  only  row  of  domes  which  looked 
particularly  regular  or  statel}^  were  the  kitchens.  As 
you  examined  the  buildings  they  had  a  ruinous,  dilapi- 
dated look:  they  are  not  furnished,  it  is  said,  with  par- 
ticular splendour, — not  a  bit  more  elegantly  than  Miss 
Jones's  seminary  for  young  ladies,  M^iich  we  may  be  sure 
is  much  more  comfortable  than  the  extensive  establish- 
ment of  his  Highness  Abdul  Med j  id. 

In  the  little  stable  I  thought  to  see  some  marks  of 
roj^al  magnificence,  and  some  horses  worthy  of  the  king 
of  all  kings.  But  the  Sultan  is  said  to  be  a  very  timid 
horseman:  the  animal  that  is  always  kept  saddled  for 


360  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

him  did  not  look  to  be  worth  twenty  pounds;  and  the 
rest  of  the  horses  in  the  shabb}",  dirty  stalls,  were  small, 
ill-kept,  common-looking  brutes.  You  might  see  better, 
it  seemed  to  me,  at  a  country  inn  stable  on  any  market- 
day. 

The  kitchens  are  the  most  sublime  part  of  the  Seraglio. 
There  are  nine  of  these  great  halls,  for  all  ranks,  from 
his  Highness  downwards,  where  many  hecatombs  are 
roasted  daily,  according  to  the  accounts,  and  where  cook- 
ing goes  on  with  a  savage  Homeric  grandeur.  Chim- 
neys are  despised  in  these  primitive  halls;  so  that  the 
roofs  are  black  with  the  smoke  of  hundreds  of  furnaces, 
which  escapes  through  apertures  in  the  domes  above. 
These,  too,  give  the  chief  light  in  the  rooms,  which 
streams  downwards,  and  thickens  and  mingles  with  the 
smoke,  and  so  murkily  lights  up  hundreds  of  swarthy 
figures  busy  about  the  spits  and  the  cauldrons.  Close 
to  the  door  by  which  we  entered  they  were  making  pas- 
try for  the  sultanas;  and  the  chief  pastrycook,  who 
knew  my  guide,  invited  us  courteously  to  see  the  pro- 
cess, and  partake  of  the  delicacies  prepared  for  those 
charming  lips.  How  those  sweet  lips  must  shine  after 
eating  these  puffs!  First,  huge  sheets  of  dough  are 
rolled  out  till  the  paste  is  about  as  thin  as  silver  paper: 
then  an  artist  forms  the  dough-muslin  into  a  sort  of 
drapery,  curling  it  round  and  round  in  many  fanciful 
and  pretty  shapes,  until  it  is  all  got  into  the  circumference 
of  a  round  metal  tray  in  which  it  is  baked.  Then  the 
cake  is  drenched  in  grease  most  profusely;  and,  finally, 
a  quantity  of  sj^rup  is  poured  over  it,  when  the  delec- 
table mixture  is  complete.  The  moon-faced  ones  are 
said  to  devour  immense  quantities  of  this  wholesome 
food;  and,  in  fact,  are  eating  grease  and  sweetmeats 


THE   SULTANAS'   PUFFS  361 

from  morning  till  night.  I  don't  like  to  think  what 
the  consequences  may  be,  or  allude  to  the  agonies  which 
the  delicate  creatures  must  inevitably  suffer. 

The  good-natured  chief  pastrycook  filled  a  copper 
basin  with  greasy  puffs;  and,  dipping  a  dubious  ladle 
into  a  large  cauldron,  containing  several  gallons  of 
syrup,  poured  a  liberal  portion  over  the  cakes,  and  in- 
vited us  to  eat.  One  of  the  tarts  was  quite  enough  for 
me :  and  I  excused  myself  on  the  plea  of  ill-health  from 
imbibing  any  more  grease  and  sugar.  But  my  com- 
panion, the  dragoman,  finished  some  forty  puffs  in  a 
twinkling.  They  slipped  down  his  opened  jaws  as  the 
sausages  do  down  clowns'  throats  in  a  pantomime.  His 
moustaches  shone  with  grease,  and  it  dripped  down  his 
beard  and  fingers.  We  thanked  the  smiling  chief  pas- 
trycook, and  rewarded  him  handsomely  for  the  tarts. 
It  is  something  to  have  eaten  of  the  dainties  prepared 
for  the  ladies  of  the  harem;  but  I  think  Mr.  Cockle 
ought  to  get  the  names  of  the  chief  sultanas  among  the 
exalted  patrons  of  his  antibilious  pills. 

From  the  kitchens  we  passed  into  the  second  part  of 
the  Seraglio,  beyond  which  is  death.  The  Guide-book 
only  hints  at  the  dangers  which  would  befall  a  stranger 
caught  prying  in  the  mysterious  first  court  of  the  palace. 
I  have  read  "  Bluebeard,"  and  don't  care  for  peeping 
into  forbidden  doors ;  so  that  the  second  court  was  quite 
enough  for  me;  the  pleasure  of  beholding  it  being 
heightened,  as  it  were,  by  the  notion  of  the  invisible  dan- 
ger sitting  next  door,  with  uplifted  scimitar  ready  to 
fall  on  you— present  though  not  seen. 

A  cloister  runs  along  one  side  of  this  court;  opposite 
is  the  hall  of  the  divan,  "  large  but  low,  covered  with 
lead,  and  gilt,  after  the  Moorish  manner,  plain  enough." 


3G2  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  Grand  Vizier  sits  in  this  place,  and  the  ambassadors 
used  to  wait  here,  and  be  conducted  hence  on  horseback, 
attired  with  robes  of  honour.  But  the  ceremony  is  now, 
I  beheve,  discontinued;  the  Enghsh  envoy,  at  an}^  rate, 
is  not  allowed  to  receive  any  backsheesh,  and  goes  away 
as  he  came,  in  the  habit  of  his  own  nation.  On  the  right 
is  a  door  leading  into  the  interior  of  the  Seraglio;  none 
pass  through  it  hut  such  as  are  sent  for,  the  Guide-book 
says:  it  is  impossible  to  top  the  terror  of  that  description. 

About  this  door  lads  and  servants  were  lolling,  icho- 
glans  and  pages,  witli  lazy  looks  and  shabby  dresses; 
and  among  tliem,  sunning  himself  sulkily  on  a  bench,  a 
poor  old  fat,  wrinkled,  dismal  white  eunucli,  witli  little  fat 
white  hands,  and  a  great  head  siuik  into  his  chest,  and 
two  sprawling  little  legs  that  seemed  incapable  to  hold 
up  his  bkxited  old  body.  He  squeaked  out  some  surly 
reply  to  my  friend  the  dragoman,  wlio,  softened  and 
sweetened  by  the  tarts  he  liad  just  been  devouring;  was, 
no  doul)t,  anxious  to  be  polite:  and  tlie  ])oor  worthy 
fellow  walked  away  rather  crestfallen  at  this  return  of 
his  salutation,  and  hastened  me  out  of  the  place. 

The  palace  of  the  Seraglio,  the  cloister  with  marble 
pillars,  the  hall  of  the  ambassadors,  the  impenetrable 
gate  guarded  by  eunuchs  and  ichoglans,  have  a  roman- 
tic look  in  print;  but  not  so  in  reality.  ^lost  of  the 
marble  is  wood,  almost  all  the  gilding  is  faded,  the 
guards  are  shabby,  the  foolish  perspectives  painted  on 
tlie  walls  are  half  cracked  off.  The  place  looks  like 
Vauxhall  in  the  daytime. 

We  passed  out  of  the  second  court  under  The  Sub- 
lime Porte — which  is  like  a  fortified  gate  of  a  Ger- 
man town  of  the  middle  ages — into  the  outer  court, 
round  which  are  public  offices,  hospitals,  and  dwellings 


A  LADY  IN  A  BROUGHAM  363 

of  the  multifarious  servants  of  the  palace.  This  place  is 
very  wide  and  picturesque:  there  is  a  pretty  church  of 
Byzantine  architecture  at  the  further  end;  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  court  a  magnificent  plane-tree,  of  pro- 
digious dimensions  and  fabulous  age  according  to  the 
guides;  St.  Sophia  towers  in  the  further  distance:  and 
from  here,  perhaps,  is  the  best  view  of  its  light  swelling 
domes  and  beautiful  proportions.  The  Porte  itself, 
too,  forms  an  excellent  subject  for  the  sketcher,  if  the 
officers  of  the  court  will  permit  him  to  design  it.  I 
made  the  attempt,  and  a  couple  of  Turkish  beadles 
looked  on  very  good-naturedly  for  some  time  at  the 
progress  of  the  drawing;  but  a  good  number  of  othei* 
spectators  speedity  joined  them,  and  made  a  crowd, 
which  is  not  permitted,  it  would  seem,  in  the  Seraglio; 
so  I  was  told  to  pack  up  my  portfolio,  and  remove  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  lost  my  drawing  of  the 
Ottoman  Porte. 

I  don't  think  I  have  anything  more  to  say  about  the 
city  which  has  not  been  much  better  told  by  graver  trav- 
ellers. I,  with  them,  could  see  (perhaps  it  was  the 
preaching  of  the  politicians  that  warned  me  of  the  fact) 
that  we  are  looking  on  at  the  last  daj^s  of  an  empire; 
and  heard  many  stories  of  weakness,  disorder,  and  op- 
pression. I  even  saw  a  Turkish  lady  drive  up  to  Sultan 
Achmet's  mosque  in  a  brougham.  Is  not  that  a  subject 
to  moralize  upon  ?  And  might  one  not  draw  endless  con- 
clusions from  it,  that  the  knell  of  the  Turkish  dominion 
is  rung;  that  the  European  spirit  and  institutions  once 
admitted  can  never  be  rooted  out  again;  and  that  the 
scepticism  prevalent  amongst  the  higher  orders  must  de- 
scend ere  very  long  to  the  lower;  and  the  cry  of  the 
muezzin  from  the  mosque  become  a  mere  ceremony? 


364  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

But  as  I  only  staj^'ed  eight  daj^s  in  this  place,  and 
knew  not  a  sjdlable  of  the  language,  perhaps  it  is  as  well 
to  pretermit  any  disquisitions  about  the  spirit  of  the 
people.  I  can  only  say  that  they  looked  to  be  verj^  good- 
natured,  handsome,  and  lazy;  that  the  women's  yellow 
slippers  are  very  ugly ;  that  the  kabobs  at  the  shop  hard 
by  the  Rope  Bazaar  are  very  hot  and  good;  and  that 
at  the  Armenian  cook-shops  thej^  serve  you  delicious 
fish,  and  a  stout  raisin  wine  of  no  small  merit.  There 
came  in,  as  we  sat  and  dined  there  at  sunset,  a  good  old 
Turk,  who  called  for  a  penny  fish,  and  sat  down  under 
a  tree  verv  humbly,  and  ate  it  with  his  .own  bread.  We 
made  that  jollj'^  old  ^Mussulman  happy  with  a  quart  of 
the  raisin  wine;  and  his  eyes  twinkled  with  every  fresh 
glass,  and  he  wiped  his  old  beard  delighted,  and  talked 
and  chirped  a  good  deal,  and,  I  dare  say,  told  us  the 
whole  state  of  the  empire.  He  was  the  only  JNIussulman 
with  whom  I  attained  any  degree  of  intimac\^  during 
my  stay  in  Constantinople;  and  you  will  see  that,  for 
obvious  reasons,  I  cannot  divulge  the  particulars  of  our 
conversation. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  say,  and  you  own  it,"  says 
somebod\^:  "  then  why  write?  "  That  question  perhaps 
(between  ourselves)  I  have  put  likewise;  and  yet,  my 
dear  sir,  there  are  some  things  worth  remembering  even 
in  this  brief  letter:  that  woman  in  the  brougham  is  an 
idea  of  significance:  that  comparison  of  the  Seraglio  to 
Vauxhall  in  the  daytime  is  a  true  and  real  one;  from 
both  of  which  your  own  great  soul  and  ingenious  philo- 
sophic spirit  may  draw  conclusions,  that  I  myself  have 
modestly  forborne  to  press.  You  are  too  clever  to  re- 
quire a  moral  to  be  tacked  to  all  the  fables  you  read,  as 
is  done  for  children  in  the  spelling-books;  else  I  would 


A  LADY  IN  A  BROUGHAM 


365 


tell  you  that  the  government  of  the  Ottoman  Porte 
seems  to  be  as  rotten,  as  wrinkled,  and  as  feeble  as  the 
old  eunuch  I  saw  crawling  about  it  in  the  sun ;  that  when 
the  lady  drove  up  in  a  brougham  to  Sultan  Achmet,  I 
felt  that  the  schoolmaster  was  really  abroad;  and  that 
the  crescent  will  go  out  before  that  luminary,  as  meekly 
as  the  moon  does  before  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

RHODES 

THE  sailing  of  a  vessel  direct  for  Jaffa  brought  a 
great  number  of  passengers  together,  and  our 
decks  were  covered  with  Christian,  Jew,  and  Heathen. 
In  the  cabin  we  were  Poles  and  Russians,  Frenchmen, 
Germans,  Spaniards,  and  Greeks;  on  the  deck  were 
squatted  several  little  colonies  of  people  of  different  race 
and  persuasion.  There  was  a  Greek  Papa,  a  noble  figure 
with  a  flowing  and  venerable  white  beard,  who  had  been 
living  on  bread-and-water  for  I  don't  know  how  many 
years,  in  order  to  save  a  little  money  to  make  the  pil- 
grimage to  Jerusalem.  There  were  several  families  of 
Jewish  Rabbis,  who  celebrated  their  "  feast  of  taber- 
nacles "  on  board ;  their  chief  men  performing  worship 
twice  or  thrice  a  day,  dressed  in  their  pontifical  habits, 
and  bound  with  phylacteries:  and  there  were  Turks,  who 
had  their  own  ceremonies  and  usages,  and  wisely  kept 
aloof  from  their  neighbours  of  Israel. 

The  dirt  of  these  children  of  captivity  exceeds  all  pos- 
sibility of  description;  the  profusion  of  stinks  which 
they  raised,  the  grease  of  their  venerable  garments  and 
faces,  the  horrible  messes  cooked  in  the  filthy  pots,  and 
devoured  with  the  nasty  fingers,  the  squalor  of  mats, 
pots,  old  bedding,  and  foul  carpets  of  our  Hebrew 
friends,  could  hardly  be  painted  by  Swift,  in  his  dirtiest 
mood,  and  cannot  be,  of  course,  attempted  by  my  timid 
and  genteel  pen.    What  would  they  say  in  Baker  Street 

366 


JEW   PILGRIMS 


367 


to  some  sights  with  which  our  new  friends  favoured  us? 
What  would  your  ladyship  have  said  if  you  had  seen  the 
interesting  Greek  nun  combing  her  hair  over  the  cabin 
— combing  it  with  the  natural  fingers,  and,  averse  to 
slaughter,  flinging  the  delicate  little  intruders,  which  she 
found  in  the  course  of  her  investigation,  gently  into  the 
great  cabin  ?  Our  attention  was  a  good  deal  occupied  in 
watching  the  strange  ways  and  customs  of  the  various 
comrades  of  ours. 

The  Jews  were  refugees  from  Poland,  going  to  lay 
their  bones  to  rest  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  and  per- 
forming with  exceeding  rigour  the  offices  of  their  reli- 
gion. At  morning  and  evening  you  were  sure  to  see  the 
chiefs  of  the  families,  arraj^ed  in  white  robes,  bowing 


over  their  books,  at  prayer.  Once  a  week,  on  the  eve 
before  the  Sabbath,  there  was  a  general  washing  in 
Jewry,  which  sufficed  until  the  ensuing  Friday.  The 
men  wore  long  gowns  and  caps  of  fur,  or  else  broad- 


368  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

brimmed  hats,  or,  in  service  time,  bound  on  their  heads 
little  iron  boxes,  with  the  sacred  name  engraved  on  them. 
Among  the  lads  there  were  some  beautiful  faces;  and 
among  the  women  your  humble  servant  discovered  one 
who  was  a  perfect  rosebud  of  beauty  when  first  emerging 
from  her  Friday's  toilette,  and  for  a  day  or  two  after- 
wards, until  each  succeeding  day's  smut  darkened  those 
fresh  and  delicate  cheeks  of  hers.  We  had  some  very 
rough  weather  in  the  course  of  the  passage  from  Con- 
stantinople to  Jaffa,  and  the  sea  washed  over  and  over 
our  Israelitish  friends  and  their  baggages  and  bundles ; 
but  though  they  were  said  to  be  rich,  they  would  not  af- 
ford to  pay  for  cabin  shelter.  One  father  of  a  family, 
finding  his  progeny  half  drowned  in  a  squall,  vowed  he 
riDould  pay  for  a  cabin;  but  the  weather  was  somewhat 
finer  the  next  day,  and  he  could  not  squeeze  out  his  dol- 
lars, and  the  ship's  authorities  would  not  admit  him 
except  upon  payment. 

This  unwillingness  to  part  with  money  is  not  only 
found  amongst  the  followers  of  Moses,  but  in  those  of 
Mahomet,  and  Christians  too.  When  we  went  to  pur- 
chase in  the  bazaars,  after  oiFering  money  for  change, 
the  honest  fellows  would  frequently  keep  back  several 
piastres,  and  when  urged  to  refund,  would  give  most 
dismally;  and  begin  doling  out  penny  by  penny,  and 
utter  pathetic  prayers  to  their  customer  not  to  take  any 
more.  I  bought  five  or  six  pounds'  worth  of  Broussa 
silks  for  the  womenkind,  in  the  bazaar  at  Constantinople, 
and  the  rich  Armenian  who  sold  them  begged  for  three- 
halfpence  to  pay  his  boat  to  Galata.  There  is  something 
naif  and  amusing  in  this  exhibition  of  cheatery— this 
simple  cringing,  and  wheedling,  and  passion  for  two- 
pence-halfpenny.   It  was  pleasant  to  give  a  millionnaire 


JEW   PILGRIMS  369 

beggar  an  alms,  and  laugh  in  his  face  and  say,  "  There, 
Dives,  there's  a  penny  for  you:  be  happy,  you  poor  old 
swindling  scoundrel,  as  far  as  a  penny  goes."  I  used  to 
watch  these  Jews  on  shore,  and  making  bargains  with 
one  another  as  soon  as  they  came  on  board;  the  battle 
between  vendor  and  purchaser  was  an  agony — they 
shrieked,  clasped  hands,  appealed  to  one  another  passion- 
ately; their  handsome,  noble  faces  assumed  a  look  of 
woe — quite  an  heroic  eagerness  and  sadness  about  a 
farthing. 

Ambassadors  from  our  Hebrews  descended  at  Rhodes 
to  buy  provisions,  and  it  was  curious  to  see  their  dealings : 
there  was  our  venerable  Rabbi,  who,  robed  in  white  and 
silver,  and  bending  over  his  book  at  the  morning  service, 
looked  like  a  patriarch,  and  whom  I  saw  chaffering  about 
a  fowl  with  a  brother  Rhodian  Israelite.  How  they 
fought  over  the  body  of  that  lean  animal!  The  street 
swarmed  with  Jews :  goggling  eyes  looked  out  from  the 
old  carved  casements— hooked  noses  issued  from  the  low 
antique  doors— Jew  boys  driving  donkeys,  Hebrew  mo- 
thers nursing  children,  dusky,  tawdry,  ragged  young 
beauties  and  most  venerable  gi*ey-bearded  fathers 
were  all  gathered  round  about  the  affair  of  the  hen! 
And  at  the  same  time  that  our  Rabbi  was  arranging 
the  price  of  it,  his  children  were  instructed  to  procure 
bundles  of  green  branches  to  decorate  the  ship  during 
their  feast.  Think  of  the  centuries  during  which  these 
wonderful  people  have  remained  unchanged;  and  how, 
from  the  days  of  Jacob  downwards,  they  have  believed 
and  swindled! 

The  Rhodian  Jews,  with  their  genius  for  filth,  have 
made  their  quarter  of  the  noble,  desolate  old  town,  the 
most  ruinous  and  wretched  of  all.     The  escutcheons  of 


370  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  proud  old  knights  are  still  carved  over  the  doors, 
whence  issue  these  miserable  greasy  hucksters  and  ped- 
lars. The  Turks  respected  these  emblems  of  the  brave 
enemies  whom  they  had  overcome,  and  left  them  un- 
touched. When  the  French  seized  INIalta  they  were  by  no 
means  so  delicate:  they  effaced  armorial  bearings  with 
their  usual  hot-headed  eagerness ;  and  a  few  years  after 
they  had  torn  down  the  coats-of-arms  of  the  gentry,  the 
heroes  of  Malta  and  Egypt  were  busy  devising  heraldry 
for  themselves,  and  were  wild  to  be  barons  and  counts 
of  the  empire. 

The  chivalrous  relics  at  Rhodes  are  very  superb.  I 
know  of  no  buildings  whose  stately  and  picturesque  as- 
pect seems  to  corresj)ond  better  with  one's  notions  of 
their  proud  founders.  The  towers  and  gates  are  war- 
like and  strong,  but  beautiful  and  aristocratic:  you  see 
that  they  must  have  been  high-bred  gentlemen  who  built 
them.  The  edifices  appear  in  almost  as  perfect  a  condi- 
tion as  when  they  were  in  the  occupation  of  the  noble 
Knights  of  St.  John ;  and  they  have  this  advantage  over 
modern  fortifications,  that  they  are  a  thousand  times 
more  picturesque.  Ancient  war  condescended  to  orna- 
ment itself,  and  built  fine  carved  castles  and  vaulted 
gates:  whereas,  to  judge  from  Gibraltar  and  Malta, 
nothing  can  be  less  romantic  than  the  modern  military 
architecture ;  which  sternly  regards  the  fighting,  without 
in  the  least  heeding  the  war-paint.  Some  of  the  huge 
artillery  with  which  the  place  was  defended  still  lies  in 
the  bastions;  and  the  touch-holes  of  the  guns  are  pre- 
served by  being  covered  with  rusty  old  corselets,  worn  by 
defenders  of  the  fort  three  hundred  years  ago.  The 
Turks,  who  battered  down  chivalry,  seem  to  be  waiting 
their  turn  of  destruction   now.      In  walking  through 


MAHOMETANISM    BANKRUPT       371 

Rhodes  one  is  strangely  affected  by  witnessing  the  signs 
of  this  double  decay.  For  instance,  in  the  streets  of  the 
knights,  you  see  noble  houses,  surmounted  by  noble  es- 
cutcheons of  superb  knights,  who  lived  there,  and  prayed, 
and  quarrelled,  and  murdered  the  Turks;  and  were 
the  most  gallant  pirates  of  the  inland  seas;  and  made 
vows  of  chastity,  and  robbed  and  ravished;  and,  pro- 
fessing humility,  would  admit  none  but  nobility  into 
their  order ;  and  died  recommending  themselves  to  sweet 
St.  John,  and  calmly  hoping  for  heaven  in  consideration 
of  all  the  heathen  they  had  slain.  When  this  superb  fra- 
ternity was  obliged  to  jdeld  to  courage  as  great  as  theirs, 
faith  as  sincere,  and  to  robbers  even  more  dexterous  and 
audacious  than  the  noblest  knight  who  ever  sang  a  can- 
ticle to  the  Virgin,  these  halls  were  filled  by  magnificent 
Pashas  and  Agas,  who  lived  here  in  the  inten^als  of  war, 
and  having  conquered  its  best  champions,  despised 
Christendom  and  chivalry  pretty  much  as  an  English- 
man despises  a  Frenchman.  Now  the  famous  house  is 
let  to  a  shabby  merchant,  who  has  his  little  beggarly 
shop  in  the  bazaar;  to  a  small  ofiicer,  who  ekes  out  his 
wretched  pension  by  swindling,  and  who  gets  his  pay  in 
bad  coin.  Mahometanism  pays  in  pewter  now,  in  place 
of  silver  and  gold.  The  lords  of  the  world  have  run  to 
seed.  The  powerless  old  sword  frightens  nobody  now — 
the  steel  is  turned  to  pewter  too,  somehow,  and  will  no 
longer  shear  a  Christian  head  off  an}"  shoulders.  In  the 
Crusades  my  wicked  sympathies  have  always  been  with 
the  Turks.  They  seem  to  me  the  best  Christians  of  the 
two;  more  humane,  less  brutally  presumptuous  about 
their  own  merits,  and  more  generous  in  esteeming  their 
neighbours.  As  far  as  I  can  get  at  the  authentic  story, 
Saladin  is  a  pearl  of  refinement  compared  to  the  brutal 


372  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

beef -eating  Richard — about  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
led  all  the  world  astray. 

When  shall  we  have  a  real  account  of  those  times  and 
heroes — no  good-humoured  pageant,  like  those  of  the 
Scott  romances — but  a  real  authentic  story  to  instruct 
and  frighten  honest  people  of  the  present  day,  and  make 
them  thankful  that  the  grocer  governs  the  world  now  in 
place  of  the  baron  ?  Meanwhile  a  man  of  tender  feelings 
may  be  pardoned  for  twaddling  a  little  over  this  sad  spec- 
tacle of  the  decay  of  two  of  the  great  institutions  of  the 
w^orld.  Knighthood  is  gone — amen;  it  expired  with  dig- 
nity, its  face  to  the  foe :  and  old  INIahometanism  is  linger- 
ing about  just  ready  to  drop.  But  it  is  unseemly  to  see 
such  a  Grand  Potentate  in  such  a  state  of  decay :  the  son 
of  Bajazet  Ilderim  insolvent;  the  descendants  of  the 
Prophet  bullied  by  Calmucs  and  English  and  whipper- 
snapper  Frenchmen ;  the  Fountain  of  jNIagnificence  done 
up,  and  obliged  to  coin  pewter!  Think  of  the  poor  dear 
houris  in  Paradise,  how  sad  they  must  look  as  the  arrivals 
of  the  Faithful  become  less  and  less  frequent  every  day. 
I  can  fancy  the  place  beginning  to  wear  the  fatal  Vaux- 
hall  look  of  the  Seraglio,  and  which  has  pursued  me  ever 
since  I  saw  it:  the  fountains  of  eternal  wine  are  begin- 
ning to  run  rather  dry,  and  of  a  questionable  liquor;  the 
ready-roasted-meat  trees  may  cry,  "  Come  eat  me,"  every 
now  and  then,  in  a  faint  voice,  without  any  gravy  in 
it— but  the  Faithful  begin  to  doubt  about  the  quality  of 
the  victuals.  Of  nights  you  may  see  the  houris  sitting 
sadly  under  them,  darning  their  faded  muslins:  Ali, 
Omar,  and  the  Imaums  are  reconciled  and  have  gloomy 
consultations :  and  the  Chief  of  the  Faithful  himself,  the 
awful  camel-driver,  the  supernatural  husband  of  Kha- 
dijah,  sits  alone  in  a  tumble-down  kiosk,  thinking  mood- 


RHODES  373 

ily  of  the  destiny  that  is  impending  over  him ;  and  of  the 
day  when  his  gardens  of  bHss  shall  be  as  vacant  as  the 
bankrupt  Olympus.  \ 

All  the  town  of  Rhodes  has  this  appearance  of  decay 
and  ruin,  except  a  few  consuls'  houses  planted  on  the 
sea-side,  here  and  there,  with  bright  flags  flaunting  in  the 
sun;  fresh  paint;  English  crockery;  shining  mahogany, 
&c.,— so  many  emblems  of  the  new  prosperity  of  their 
trade,  while  the  old  inhabitants  were  going  to  rack— the 
fine  Church  of  St.  John,  converted  into  a  mosque,  is  a 
ruined  church,  with  a  ruined  mosque  inside ;  the  fortifica- 
tions are  mouldering  away,  as  much  as  time  will  let  them. 
There  was  considerable  bustle  and  stir  about  the  little 
port;  but  it  was  a  bustle  of  people  M^ho  looked  for  the 
most  part  to  be  beggars ;  and  I  saw  no  shop  in  the  bazaar 
that  seemed  to  have  the  value  of  a  pedlar's  pack. 

I  took,  by  way  of  guide,  a  young  fellow  from  Berlin, 
a  journeyman  shoemaker,  who  had  just  been  making  a 
tour  in  Syria,  and  who  professed  to  speak  both  Arabic 
and  Turkish  quite  fluently— which  I  thought  he  might 
have  learned  when  he  was  a  student  at  college,  before  he 
began  his  profession  of  shoemaking ;  but  I  found  he  only 
knew  about  three  words  of  Turkish,  which  were  produced 
on  every  occasion,  as  I  walked  under  his  guidance 
through  the  desolate  streets  of  the  noble  old  town.  We 
went  out  upon  the  lines  of  fortification,  through  an  an- 
cient gate  and  guard-house,  where  once  a  chapel  prob- 
ably stood,  and  of  which  the  roofs  were  richly  carved  and 
gilded.  A  ragged  squad  of  Turkish  soldiers  lolled  about 
the  gate  now ;  a  couple  of  boys  on  a  donkey ;  a  grinning 
slave  on  a  mule ;  a  pair  of  women  flapping  along  in  yel- 
low papooshes ;  a  basket-maker  sitting  under  an  antique 


374  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

carved  portal,  and  chanting  or  howling  as  he  plaited  his 
osiers:  a  peaceful  well  of  water,  at  which  knights'  char- 
gers had  drunk,  and  at  which  the  double-boyed  donkey 
was  now  refreshing  himself — would  have  made  a  pretty 
picture  for  a  sentimental  artist.  As  he  sits,  and  en- 
deavours to  make  a  sketch  of  this  plaintive  little  comedy, 
a  shabby  dignitaiy  of  the  island  comes  clattering  by  on 
a  thirty-shilling  horse,  and  two  or  three  of  the  ragged 
soldiers  leave  their  pipes  to  salute  him  as  he  passes  under 
the  Gothic  archway. 

The  astonishing  brightness  and  clearness  of  the  sky 
under  which  the  island  seemed  to  bask,  struck  me  as  sur- 
passing anything  I  had  seen— not  even  at  Cadiz,  or  the 
Pirseus,  had  I  seen  sands  so  yellow,  or  water  so  magnifi- 
cently blue.  The  houses  of  the  people  along  the  shore 
were  but  poor  tenements,  with  humble  courtj^ards  and 
gardens;  but  every  fig-tree  was  gilded  and  bright,  as  if 
it  were  in  an  Hesperian  orchard ;  the  palms,  planted  here 
and  there,  rose  with  a  sort  of  halo  of  light  round  about 
them;  the  creepers  on  the  walls  quite  dazzled  with  the 
brilliancy  of  their  flowers  and  leaves;  the  people  lay  in 
the  cool  shadows,  happy  and  idle,  with  handsome  solemn 
faces;  nobody  seemed  to  be  at  work;  they  only  talked  a 
very  little,  as  if  idleness  and  silence  w^re  a  condition  of 
the  delightfiul  shining  atmosphere  in  which  they  lived. 

We  went  down  to  an  old  mosque  by  the  sea-shore,  with 
a  cluster  of  ancient  domes  hard  b}^  it,  blazing  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  carved  all  over  with  names  of  Allah,  and  titles 
of  old  pirates  and  generals  who  reposed  there.  The 
guardian  of  the  mosque  sat  in  the  garden-court,  upon  a 
high  wooden  pulpit,  lazily  wagging  his  body  to  and  fro, 
and  singing  the  praises  of  the  Prophet  gently  through 
his  nose,  as  the  breeze  stirred  through  the  trees  overhead, 


A   FINE    DAY  375 

and  cast  chequered  and  changing  shadows  over  the  paved 
court,  and  the  httle  fountains,  and  the  nasal  psalmist  on 
his  perch.  On  one  side  was  the  mosq[ue,  into  which  you 
could  see,  with  its  white  walls  and  cool  matted  floor,  and 
quaint  carved  pulpit  and  ornaments,  and  nohody  at 
prayers.  In  the  middle  distance  rose  up  the  noble  towers 
and  battlements  of  the  knightly  town,  with  the  deep  sea- 
line  behind  them. 

It  really  seemed  as  if  everybody  was  to  have  a  sort  of 
sober  cheerfulness,  and  must  yield  to  indolence  under 
this  charming  atmosphere.  I  went  into  the  courtyard  by 
the  sea-shore  (where  a  few  lazy  ships  were  lying,  with  no 
one  on  board) ,  and  found  it  was  the  prison  of  the  place. 
The  door  was  as  wide  open  as  Westminster  Hall.  Some 
prisoners,  one  or  two  soldiers  and  functionaries,  and 
some  prisoners'  wives,  were  lolling  under  an  arcade  by 
a  fountain ;  other  criminals  were  strolling  about  here  and 
there,  their  chains  clinking  quite  cheerfully:  and  they 
and  the  guards  and  officials  came  up  chatting  quite 
friendly  together,  and  gazed  languidly  over  the  port- 
folio, as  I  was  endeavouring  to  get  the  likeness  of  one  or 
two  of  these  comfortable  malefactors.  One  old  and 
wrinkled  she-criminal,  whom  I  had  selected  on  account 
of  the  peculiar  hideousness  of  her  countenance,  covered 
it  up  with  a  dirty  cloth,  at  which  there  was  a  general  roar , 
of  laughter  among  this  good-humoured  auditory  of  cut- 
throats, pickpockets,  and  policemen.  The  only  symptom 
of  a  prison  about  the  place  was  a  door,  across  which  a 
couple  of  sentinels  were  stretched,  yawning ;  while  within 
lay  three  freshly-caught  pirates,  chained  by  the  leg. 
They  had  committed  some  murders  of  a  very  late  date, 
and  were  awaiting  sentence ;  but  their  wives  were  allowed 
to  communicate  freely  with  them:  and  it  seemed  to  me. 


376  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

that  if  half-a-dozen  friends  would  set  them  free,  and 
they  themselves  had  energy  enough  to  move,  the  senti- 
nels would  be  a  great  deal  too  lazy  to  walk  after  them. 

The  combined  influence  of  Rhodes  and  Ramazan,  I 
suppose,  had  taken  possession  of  my  friend  the  Schuster- 
gesell  from  Berlin.  As  soon  as  he  received  his  fee,  he  cut 
me  at  once,  and  went  and  lay  down  by  a  fountain  near 
the  port,  and  ate  grapes  out  of  a  dirty  pocket-handker- 
chief. Other  Christian  idlers  lay  near  him,  dozing,  or 
sprawling  in  the  boats,  or  listlessly  munching  water- 
melons. Along  the  coffee-houses  of  the  quay  sat 
hundreds  more,  with  no  better  employment;  and  the 
captain  of  the  "  Iberia  "  and  his  officers,  and  several  of 
the  passengers  in  that  famous  steamship,  were  in  this 
company,  being  idle  with  all  their  might.  Two  or  three 
adventurous  young  men  went  off  to  see  the  valley  where 
the  dragon  was  killed;  but  others,  more  susceptible  of 
the  real  influence  of  the  island,  I  am  sure  would  not  have 
moved  though  we  had  been  told  that  the  Colossus  himself 
was  taking  a  walk  half  a  mile  oiF. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    WHITE    SQUALL 

ON  deck,  beneath  the  awning, 
I  dozing  lay  and  yawning; 
It  was  the  grey  of  dawning. 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose; 
And  above  the  funnel's  roaring, 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 
I  heard  the  cabin  snoring 

With  universal  nose. 
I  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting, 
I  envied  their  disporting, 
Vainly  I  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze. 

So  I  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight. 

That  shot  across  the  deck ; 
And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady. 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye. 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy. 

That  whirled  from  the  chimney  neck; 
In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen. 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 

The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 

Strange  company  we  harboured ; 
We'd  a  hundred  Jews  to  larboard, 

377 


378  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Unwashed,  uncombed,  unbarbered, 
Jews  black,  and  brown,  and  grey; 

With  terror  it  would  seize  ye, 

And  make  your  souls  uneasy, 

To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

Who  did  nought  but  scratch  and  pray: 

Their  dirty  children  puking. 

Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking. 

Their  dirty  fingers  hooking 
Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard  Turks  and  Greeks  were, 
Whiskered,  and  brown  their  cheeks  were, 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were, 

Their  pipes  did  pufF  alway; 
Each  on  his  mat  allotted. 
In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 
Whilst  round  their  children  trotted. 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play. 
He  can't  but  smile  Avho  traces 
The  smiles  on  those  brown  faces. 
And  the  pretty  prattling  graces 

Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling. 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling. 
Went  the  brave  "  Iberia  "  bowling 
Before  the  break  of  day — 
When  a  Squall  upon  a  sudden 
Came  o'er  the  waters  scudding; 
And  the  clouds  began  to  gather, 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather, 
And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled. 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumbled. 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 


THE   WHITE    SQUALL  379 

Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howHng, 
And  the  poodle-dog  a  yowHng. 
And  the  cocks  began  a  croVing. 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing, 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle, 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle ; 
And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnels, 
And  down  the  deck  in  runnels; 
And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all. 
From  the  seamen  in  the  fo'ksal 
To  the  stokers,  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places ; 
And  the  captain  he  was  bawling. 
And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling; 
And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 
Was  shivered  in  the  squalling; 
And  the  passengers  awaken, 
Most  pitifully  shaken ; 
And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  hastens 
For  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and  quivered, 
And  they  knelt,  and  moaned,  and  shivered, 
As  the  plunging  waters  met  them. 
And  splashed  and  overset  them ; 
And  they  call  in  their  emergence 
Upon  countless  saints  and  virgins ; 
And  their  marrowbones  are  bended. 
And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 

And  the  Turkish  women  for'ard 
Were  frightened  and  behorror'd; 
And,  shrieking  and  bewildering. 
The  mothers  clutched  their  children ; 


380  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  men  sung,  "  Allah  Illah ! 
Mashallah  Bismlllah !  " 
As  the  warring  waters  doused  them, 
And  splashed  them  and  soused  them; 
And  they  called  upon  the  Prophet, 
And  thought  but  little  of  it. 

Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry 
Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury ; 
And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 
Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  up 
(I  wot  those  greasy  Rabbins 
Would  never  pay  for  cabins)  ; 
And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered  in 
His  filthy  Jewish  gaberdine. 
In  woe  and  lamentation, 
And  howling  consternation. 
And  the  splashing  water  drenches 
Their  dirty  brats  and  wenches; 
And  they  crawl  from  bales  and  benches, 
In  a  hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  White  Squall  famous 
Which  latterly  o'ercame  us. 
And  which  all  will  well  remember 
On  the  28th  September ; 
When  a  Prussian  Captain  of  Lancers 
(Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  prancers) 
Came  on  the  deck  astonished. 
By  that  wild  squall  admonished. 
And  wondering  cried,  "  Potztausend ! 
Wie  ist  der  Sturm  jetzt  brausend!" 
And  looked  at  Captain  Lewis, 
Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 
Cigar  in  all  the  bustle. 
And  scorned  the  tempest's  tussle. 


THE    WHITE    SQUALL  381 

And  oft  we've  thought  thereafter 

How  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter; 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 

With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle; 

And  when  a  wreck  we  thought  her 

And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter, 

How  gaily  he  fought  her, 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her, 

And,  as  the  tempest  caught  her. 

Cried,  "  George  !  some  brandy  and  water  !  " 

And  when,  its  force  expended. 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended. 
And,  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea ; 
I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking. 
My  little  girls  were  waking. 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 


CHAPTER  X 

TELMESSUS  — BEYROUT 

THERE  should  have  been  a  poet  in  our  company 
to  describe  that  charming  httle  bay  of  Glaucus, 
into  which  we  entered  on  the  26th  of  September,  in  the 
first  steamboat  that  ever  disturbed  its  beautiful  waters. 
You  can't  put  down  in  j)rose  that  delicious  episode  of 
natural  poetry ;  it  ought  to  be  done  in  a  symphony,  full 
of  sweet  melodies  and  swelling  harmonies;  or  sung  in  a 
strain  of  clear  ciTstal  iambics,  such  as  Milnes  knows  how 
to  write.  A  mere  map,  drawn  in  words,  gives  the  mind 
no  notion  of  that  exquisite  nature.  What  do  mountains 
become  in  type,  or  rivers  in  ]Mr.  Vizetelly's  best  brevier? 
Here  lies  the  sweet  ba}^  gleaming  peaceful  in  the  rosj^ 
sunshine:  green  islands  dip  here  and  there  in  its  waters: 
purple  mountains  swell  circling  round  it;  and  towards 
them,  rising  from  the  bay,  stretches  a  rich  green  plain, 
fruitful  with  herbs  and  various  foliage,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  white  houses  twinkle.  I  can  see  a  little  mina- 
ret, and  some  spreading  palm-trees;  but,  beyond  these, 
the  description  would  answer  as  well  for  Bantry  Bay  as 
for  Makri.  You  could  write  so  far,  nay,  much  more 
particularly  and  grandly,  without  seeing  the  place  at  all, 
and  after  reading  Beaufort's  "  Caramania,"  which  gives 
you  not  the  least  notion  of  it. 

Suppose  the  great  hydrographer  of  the  Admiralty 
himself  can't  describe  it,  who  surveyed  the  place;  sup- 
pose Mr.  Fellowes,  who  discovered  it  afterwards — sup- 

382 


RUIN   OF   TELMESSUS  383 

pose,  I  say,  Sir  John  Fellovves,  Knt.,  can't  do  it  (and  I 
defy  any  man  of  imagination  to  get  an  impression  of 
Telmessus  from  his  book)  — can  you,^  vain  man,  hope  to 
try?  The  effort  of  the  artist,  as  I  take  it,  ought  to  be, 
to  produce  upon  his  hearer's  mind,  by  his  art,  an  effect 
something  similar  to  that  produced  on  his  own  by  the 
sight  of  the  natural  object.  Only  music,  or  the  best 
poetry,  can  do  this.  Keats's  "  Ode  to  the  Grecian  Urn  " 
is  the  best  description  I  know  of  that  sweet,  old,  silent 
ruin  of  Telmessus.  After  you  have  once  seen  it,  the  re- 
membrance remains  with  you,  like  a  tune  from  Mozart, 
which  he  seems  to  have  caught  out  of  heaven,  and  which 
rings  sweet  harmony  in  your  ears  for  ever  after!  It's  a 
benefit  for  all  after  life !  You  have  but  to  shut  your  eyes, 
and  think,  and  recall  it,  and  the  delightful  vision  comes 
smiling  back,  to  your  order! — the  divine  air — the  deli- 
cious little  pageant,  which  nature  set  before  you  on  this 
lucky  day. 

Here  is  the  entry  made  in  the  note-book  on  the  event- 
ful day:—"  In  the  morning  steamed  into  the  bay  of 
Glaucus— landed  at  Makri— cheerful  old  desolate  vil- 
lage—theatre by  the  beautiful  sea-shore— great  fertility, 
oleanders— a  palm-tree  in  the  midst  of  the  village, 
spreading  out  like  a  Sultan's  aigrette— sculptured  cav- 
erns, or  tombs,  up  the  mountain— camels  over  the 
bridge." 

Perhaps  it  is  best  for  a  man  of  fancy  to  make  his  own 
landscape  out  of  these  materials:  to  group  the  couched 
camels  under  the  plane-trees ;  the  little  crowd  of  wander- 
ing, ragged  heathens  come  down  to  the  calm  water,  to 
behold  the  nearing  steamer ;  to  fancy  a  mountain,  in  the 
sides  of  which  some  scores  of  tombs  are  rudely  carved; 
pillars  and  porticoes,  and  Doric  entablatures.    But  it  is 


384  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

of  the  little  theatre  that  he  must  make  the  most  beautiful 
picture — a  charming  little  place  of  festival,  lying  out  on 
the  shore,  and  looking  over  the  sweet  bay  and  the  swell- 
ing purple  islands.  No  theatre-goer  ever  looked  out  on 
a  fairer  scene.  It  encourages  poetry,  idleness,  delicious 
sensual  reverie.  O  Jones !  friend  of  my  heart !  would  you 
not  like  to  be  a  white-robed  Greek,  lolling  languidly  on 
the  cool  benches  here,  and  pouring  compliments  (in  the 
Ionic  dialect)  into  the  rosy  ears  of  Ne^era?  Instead  of 
Jones,  your  name  should  be  lonides;  instead  of  a  silk 
hat,  you  should  wear  a  chaplet  of  roses  in  your  hair :  you 
would  not  listen  to  the  choruses  they  were  singing  on  the 
stage,  for  the  voice  of  the  fair  one  would  be  whispering 
a  rendezvous  for  the  mesonuktiais  liorais,  and  my  lonides 
would  have  no  ear  for  aught  beside.  Yonder,  in  the 
mountain,  they  would  cai-ve  a  Doric  cave  temple,  to  re- 
ceive your  urn  when  all  was  done;  and  you  would  be 
accompanied  thither  by  a  dirge  of  the  surviving  lonidae. 
The  caves  of  the  dead  are  empty  now,  however,  and  their 
place  knows  them  not  any  more  among  the  festal  haunts 
of  the  living.  But,  by  way  of  supplying  the  choric  mel- 
odies sung  here  in  old  time,  one  of  our  companions 
mounted  on  the  scene  and  spouted, 


a 


My  name  is  Nerval. 


On  the  same  day  we  lay  to  for  a  while  at  another 
ruined  theatre,  that  of  Antiphilos.  The  Oxford  men, 
fresh  with  recollections  of  the  little-go,  bounded  away  up 
the  hill  on  which  it  lies  to  the  ruin,  measured  the  steps 
of  the  theatre,  and  calculated  the  width  of  the  scene; 
while  others,  less  active,  watched  them  with  telescopes 
from  the  ship's  sides,  as  they  plunged  in  and  out  of  the 
stones  and  hollows. 


HALIL  PACHA  385 

Two  days  after  the  scene  was  quite  changed.  We 
were  out  of  sight  of  the  classical  country,  and  lay  in  St. 
George's  Bay,  behind  a  huge  mountain,  upon  which  St. 
George  fought  the  dragon,  and  rescued  the  lovely  Lady 
Sabra,  the  King  of  Babylon's  daughter.  The  Turkish 
fleet  was  lying  about  us,  commanded  by  that  Halil 
Pacha  whose  two  children  the  two  last  Sultans  murdered. 
The  crimson  flag,  with  the  star  and  crescent,  floated  at 
the  stern  of  his  ship.  Our  diplomatist  put  on  his  uni- 
form and  cordons,  and  paid  his  Excellency  a  visit.  He 
spoke  in  rapture,  when  he  returned,  of  the  beauty  and 
order  of  the  ship,  and  the  urbanity  of  the  infidel  admiral. 
He  sent  us  bottles  of  ancient  Cyprus  wine  to  drink :  and 
the  captain  of  her  Majesty's  ship,  "  Trump,"  alongside 
which  we  were  lying,  confirmed  that  good  opinion  of  the 
Capitan  Pasha  which  the  reception  of  the  above  present 
led  us  to  entertain,  by  relating  many  instances  of  his 

friendliness  and  hospitalities.     Captain  G said  the 

Turkish  ships  were  as  well  manned,  as  well  kept,  and  as 
well  manoeuvred,  as  any  vessels  in  any  service;  and  in- 
timated a  desire  to  command  a  Turkish  seventy-four, 
and  a  perfect  willingness  to  fight  her  against  a  French 
ship  of  the  same  size.  But  I  heartily  trust  he  will  neither 
embrace  the  Mahometan  opinions,  nor  be  called  upon 
to  engage  any  seventy-four  whatever.  If  he  do,  let  us 
hope  he  will  have  his  own  men  to  fight  with.  If  the  crew 
of  the  "  Trump  "  were  all  like  the  crew  of  the  captain's 
boat,  they  need  fear  no  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  out 
of  any  country,  with  any  Joinville  at  their  head.  We 
were  carried  on  shore  by  this  boat.  For  two  years,  dur- 
ing which  the  "  Trump  "  had  been  lying  ofl*  Beyrout, 
none  of  the  men  but  these  eight  had  ever  set  foot  on 
shore.    Mustn't  it  be  a  happy  life?    We  were  landed  at 


386  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  busy  quay  of  Beyrout,  flanked  by  the  castle  that  the 
fighting  old  commodore  half  battered  down. 

Along  the  Be3a'out  quays  civilization  flourishes  under 
the  flags  of  the  consul,  which  are  streaming  out  over  the 
yellow  buildings  in  the  clear  air.  Hither  she  brings  from 
England  her  produce  of  marine-stores  and  woollens,  her 
crockeries,  her  portable  soups,  and  her  bitter  ale.  Hither 
she  has  brought  politeness,  and  the  last  modes  from 
Paris.  They  were  exhibited  in  the  person  of  a  pretty 
lady,  superintending  the  great  French  store,  and  who 
seeing  a  stranger  sketching  on  the  quay,  sent  forward  a 
man  with  a  chair  to  accommodate  that  artist,  and  greeted 
him  with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  such  as  only  can  be  found  in 
France.  Then  she  fell  to  talking  with  a  young  French 
officer  with  a  beard,  who  was  greatly  smitten  with  her. 
They  were  making  love  just  as  they  do  on  the  Boule- 
vard. An  Arab  porter  left  his  bales,  and  the  camel  he 
was  unloading,  to  come  and  look  at  the  sketch.  Two 
stumpy,  flat-faced  Turkish  soldiers,  in  red  caps  and 
white  undresses,  peered  over  the  paper.  A  noble  little 
Lebanonian  girl,  with  a  deep  yellow  face,  and  curly  dun- 
coloured  hair,  and  a  blue  tattooed  chin,  and  for  all  cloth- 
ing a  little  ragged  shift  of  blue  cloth,  stood  by  like  a 
little  statue,  holding  her  urn,  and  stared  with  wondering 
brown  eyes.  How  magnificently  blue  the  water  was! 
—how  bright  the  flags  and  buildings  as  they  shone  above 
it,  and  the  lines  of  the  rigging  tossing  in  the  bay !  The 
white  crests  of  the  blue  waves  jumped  and  sparkled  like 
quicksilver;  the  shadows  were  as  broad  and  cool  as  the 
lights  were  brilliant  and  rosy ;  the  battered  old  towers  of 
the  commodore  looked  quite  cheerful  in  the  delicious 
atmosphere ;  and  the  mountains  bej'ond  were  of  an  ame- 
thyst colour.    The  French  officer  and  the  lady  went  on 


A  PORTRAIT  387 

chattering  quite  happily  about  love,  the  last  new  bonnet, 
or  the  battle  of  Isley,  or  the  "  Juif  Errant."  How 
neatly  her  gown  and  sleeves  fitted  h^r  pretty  little  per- 
son! We  had  not  seen  a  woman  for  a  month,  except 
honest  Mrs.  Flanigan,  the  stewardess,  and  the  ladies  of 
our  party,  and  the  tips  of  the  noses  of  the  Constan- 
tinople beauties  as  they  passed  by  leering  from  their 
yakmacs,  waddling  and  j)lapping  in  their  odious  yellow 
papooshes. 

And  this  day  is  to  be  marked  with  a  second  white  stone, 
for  having  given  the  lucky  writer  of  the  present,  occa- 
sion to  behold  a  second  beauty.  This  was  a  native 
Syrian  damsel,  who  bore  the  sweet  name  of  Mariam. 
So  it  was  she  stood  as  two  of  us  (I  mention  the  number 
for  fear  of  scandal )  took  her  picture. 

So  it  was  that  the  good-natured  black  cook  looked 
behind  her  young  mistress,  with  a  benevolent  grin,  that 
only  the  admirable  Leslie  could  paint. 

Mariam  was  the  sister  of  the  young  guide  whom  we 
hired  to  show  us  through  the  town,  and  to  let  us  be 
cheated  in  the  purchase  of  gilt  scarfs  and  handkerchiefs, 
which  strangers  think  proper  to  buy.  And  before  the 
following  authentic  drawing  could  be  made,  many  were 
the  stratagems  the  wily  artists  were  obliged  to  employ, 
to  subdue  the  shyness  of  the  little  Mariam.  In  the  first 
place,  she  would  stand  behind  the  door  (from  which  in 
the  darkness  her  beautiful  black  eyes  gleamed  out  like 
penny  tapers)  ;  nor  could  the  entreaties  of  her  brother 
and  mamma  bring  her  from  that  hiding-place.  In  order 
to  conciliate  the  latter,  we  began  by  making  a  picture  of 
her  too— that  is,  not  of  her,  who  was  an  enormous  old  fat 
woman  in  yellow,  quivering  all  over  with  strings  of 
pearls,  and  necklaces  of  sequins,  and  other  ornaments, 


388  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  which  descended  from  her  neck,  and  down  her  ample 
stomacher:  we  did  not  depict  that  big  old  woman,  who 
would  have  been  frightened  at  an  accurate  representa- 
tion of  her  own  enormity;  but  an  ideal  being,  all  grace 
and  beauty,  dressed  in  her  costume,  and  still  simpering 
before  me  in  my  sketch-book  like  a  lady  in  a  book  of 
fashions. 


This  portrait  was  shown  to  the  old  woman,  who 
handed  it  over  to  the  black  cook,  who,  grinning,  carried 
it  to  little  Mariam — and  the  result  was,  that  the  young 
creature  stepped  f onvard,  and  submitted ;  and  has  come 
over  to  Europe  as  you  see. 

A  very  snug  and  happy  family  did  this  of  Mariam's 
appear  to  be.  If  you  could  judge  by  all  the  laughter 
and  giggling,  by  the  splendour  of  the  women's  attire, 
by  the  neatness  of  the  little  house,  prettily  decorated 
with  arabesque  paintings,  neat  mats,  and  gay  carpets, 


THE    WOMEN    OF    LEBANON  389 

they  were  a  family  well  to  do  in  the  Beyrout  world,  and 
lived  with  as  much  comfort  as  any  Europeans.  They 
had  one  book;  and,  on  the  wall  of  the  principal  apart- 
ment, a  black  picture  of  the  Virgin,  whose  name  is  borne 
by  pretty  Mariam. 

The  camels  and  the  soldiers,  the  bazaars  and  khans, 
the  fountains  and  awnings,  which  chequer,  with  such  de- 
lightful variety  of  light  and  shade,  the  alleys  and  mar- 
kets of  an  Oriental  town,  are  to  be  seen  in  Beyrout  in 
perfection ;  and  an  artist  might  here  employ  himself  for 
months  with  advantage  and  pleasure.  A  new  costume 
was  here  added  to  the  motley  and  picturesque  assembly 
of  dresses.  This  was  the  dress  of  the  blue-veiled  women 
from  the  Lebanon,  stalking  solemnly  through  the  mar- 
kets, with  huge  horns,  near  a  yard  high,  on  their  fore- 
heads. For  thousands  of  years,  since  the  time  the 
Hebrew  prophets  wrote,  these  horns  have  so  been  ex- 
alted in  the  Lebanon. 

At  night  Captain  Lewis  gave  a  splendid  ball  and 
supper  to  the  "  Trump."  We  had  the  "  Trump's  "  band 
to  perform  the  music;  and  a  grand  sight  it  was  to  see 
the  captain  himself  enthusiastically  leading  on  the  drum. 
Blue  lights  and  rockets  were  burned  from  the  yards  of 
our  ship ;  which  festive  signals  were  answered  presently 
from  the  "  Trump,"  and  from  another  English  vessel 
in  the  harbour. 

They  must  have  struck  the  Capitan  Pasha  with  won- 
der, for  he  sent  his  secretary  on  board  of  us  to  inquire 
what  the  fireworks  meant.  And  the  worthy  Turk  had 
scarcely  put  his  foot  on  the  deck,  when  he  found  him- 
self seized  round  the  waist  by  one  of  the  "  Trump's  " 
officers,  and  whirling  round  the  deck  in  a  waltz,  to 


390  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

his  own  amazement,  and  the  huge  dehght  of  the  com- 
pany. His  face  of  wonder  and  gravity,  as  he  went 
on  twirhng,  could  not  have  been  exceeded  by  that  of  a 
dancing  dervish  at  Scutari;  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
managed  to  e^ijamher  the  waltz  excited  universal  ap- 
plause. 

I  forget  whether  he  accommodated  himself  to  Euro- 
pean ways  so  much  further  as  to  drink  champagne  at 
supper-time ;  to  say  that  he  did  would  be  telling  tales  out 
of  school,  and  might  interfere  with  the  future  advance- 
ment of  that  jolly  dancing  Turk. 

We  made  acquaintance  with  another  of  the  Sultan's 
subjects,  who,  I  fear,  will  have  occasion  to  doubt  of  the 
honour  of  the  English  nation,  after  the  foul  treachery 
with  which  he  was  treated. 

Among  the  occupiers  of  the  little  bazaar  watch-boxes, 
vendors  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs  and  other  articles 
of  showy  Eastern  haberdashery,  was  a  good-looking, 
neat  young  fellow,  who  spoke  English  very  fluently, 
and  was  particularly  attentive  to  all  the  passengers  on 
board  our  ship.  This  gentleman  was  not  only  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  merchant  in  the  bazaar,  but  earned  a  fur- 
ther livelihood  by  letting  out  mules  and  donkeys ;  and  he 
kept  a  small  lodging-house,  or  inn,  for  travellers,  as  we 
were  informed. 

No  wonder  he  spoke  good  English,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly polite  and  well-bred;  for  the  w^orthy  man  had 
passed  some  time  in  England,  and  in  the  best  society  too. 
That  humble  haberdasher  at  Beyrout  had  been  a  lion 
here,  at  the  veiy  best  houses  of  the  great  people,  and  had 
actually  made  his  appearance  at  Windsor,  where  he  was 
received  as  a  Syrian  Prince,  and  treated  with  great  hos- 
pitality by  royalty  itself. 


A  SYRIAN   PRINCE  391 

I  don't  know  what  waggish  propensity  moved  one  of 
the  officers  of  the  "  Trump  "  to  say  that  there  was  an 
equerr}^  of  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  on  board,  and 
to  point  me  out  as  the  dignified  personage  in  question. 
So  the  Syrian  Prince  was  introduced  to  the  royal 
equerry,  and  a  great  many  compliments  passed  between 
us.  I  even  had  the  audacity  to  state  that  on  my  very 
last  interview  with  my  royal  master,  his  Royal  Highness 
had  said,  "  Colonel  Titmarsh,  when  you  go  to  Beyrout, 
you  will  make  special  inquiries  regarding  my  interesting 
friend  Cogia  Hassan." 

Poor  Cogia  Hassan  (I  forget  whether  that  was  his 
name,  but  it  is  as  good  as  another)  was  overpowered 
wdth  this  royal  message;  and  we  had  an  intimate  con- 
versation together,  at  which  the  waggish  officer  of  the 
"  Trump  "  assisted  with  the  greatest  glee. 

But  see  the  consequences  of  deceit!  The  next  day, 
as  we  were  getting  under  way,  who  should  come  on  board 
but  my  friend  the  Syrian  Prince,  most  eager  for  a  last 
interview  with  the  Windsor  equerry ;  and  he  begged  me 
to  carry  his  protestations  of  unalterable  fidelity  to  the 
gracious  consort  of  her  Majesty.  Nor  was  this  all. 
Cogia  Hassan  actually  produced  a  great  box  of  sweet- 
meats, of  which  he  begged  my  excellency  to  accept,  and 
a  little  figure  of  a  doll  dressed  in  the  costume  of  Leba- 
non. Then  the  punishment  of  imposture  began  to  be 
felt  severely  by  me.  How  to  accept  the  poor  devil's 
sweetmeats?  How  to  refuse  them?  And  as  we  know 
that  one  lib  leads  to  another,  so  I  was  obliged  to  support 
the  first  falsehood  by  another;  and  putting  on  a  digni- 
fied air—"  Cogia  Hassan,"  says  I,  "  I  am  surprised  you 
don't  know  the  habits  of  the  British  Court  better,  and 
are  not  aware  that  our  gracious  master  solemnly  forbids 


392  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 


his  servants  to  accept  any  sort  of  backsheesh  upon  our 
travels." 

So  Prince  Cogia  Hassan  went  over  the  side  with  his 
chest  of  sweetmeats,  but  insisted  on  leaving  the  doll, 
which  may  be  worth  twopence-halfpenny ;  of  which,  and 
of  the  costume  of  the  women  of  Lebanon,  the  following 
is  an  accurate  likeness: — 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  DAY  AND   NIGHT  IN   SYRIA 

WHEN,  after  being  for  five  whole  weeks  at  sea, 
with  a  general  belief  that  at  the  end  of  a  few 
days  the  marine  malady  leaves  you  for  good,  you  find 
that  a  brisk  wind  and  a  heavy  rolling  swell  create  exactly 
the  same  inward  effects  which  they  occasioned  at  the 
very  commencement  of  the  voyage — you  begin  to  fancy 
that  you  are  unfairly  dealt  with:  and  I,  for  my  part, 
had  thought  of  complaining  to  the  company  of  this 
atrocious  violation  of  the  rules  of  their  prospectus;  but 
we  were  perpetually  coming  to  anchor  in  various  ports, 
at  which  intervals  of  peace  and  good  humour  were  re- 
stored to  us. 

On  the  3rd  of  October  our  cable  rushed  with  a  huge 
rattle  into  the  blue  sea  before  Jaffa,  at  a  distance  of  con- 
siderably more  than  a  mile  off  the  town,  which  lay  be- 
fore us  very  clear,  with  the  flags  of  the  consuls  flaring 
in  the  bright  sky,  and  making  a  cheerful  and  hospitable 
show.  The  houses  a  great  heap  of  sun-baked  stones, 
surmounted  here  and  there  by  minarets  and  countless 
little  whitewashed  domes;  a  few  date-trees  spread  out 
their  fan-like  heads  over  these  dull-looking  buildings; 
long  sands  stretched  away  on  either  side,  with  low  pur- 
ple hills  behind  them;  we  could  see  specks  of  camels 
crawling  over  these  yellow  plains;  and  those  persons 
who  were  about  to  land,  had  the  leisure  to  behold  the 

393 


394  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

sea-spray  flashing  over  the  sands,  and  over  a  heap  of 
black  rocks  which  lie  before  the  entry  to  the  town. 
The  swell  is  very  great,  the  passage  between  the  rocks 
narrow,  and  the  danger  sometimes  considerable.  So 
the  guide  began  to  entertain  the  ladies  and  other  pas- 
sengers in  the  huge  countrj^  boat  which  brought  us  from 
the  steamer,  with  an  agreeable  story  of  a  lieutenant  and 
eight  seamen  of  one  of  her  Majesty's  ships,  who  were 
upset,  dashed  to  pieces,  and  drowned  upon  these  rocks, 
through  which  two  men  and  two  boys,  with  a  very  mod- 
erate  portion  of  clothing,  each  standing  and  pulling 
half  an  oar — there  were  but  two  oars  between  them, 
and  another  by  way  of  rudder — were  endeavouring  to 
guide  us. 

When  tlie  danger  of  the  rocks  and  surf  was  passed, 
came  another  danger  of  the  hideous  brutes  in  brown 
skins  and  the  briefest  shirts,  who  came  towards  the  boat, 
straddling  through  the  water  with  outstretched  arms, 
grinning  and  j^elling  their  Arab  invitations  to  mount 
their  shoulders.  I  think  these  fellows  frightened  the 
ladies  still  more  than  the  rocks  and  the  surf;  but  the 
poor  creatures  were  obliged  to  submit;  and,  trembling, 
were  accommodated  somehow  upon  the  mahogany  backs 
of  these  ruffians,  carried  through  the  shallows,  and  flung 
up  to  a  ledge  before  the  city  gate,  where  crowds  more 
of  dark  people  were  swarming,  howling  after  their 
fashion.  The  gentlemen,  meanwhile,  were  having  ar- 
guments about  the  eternal  backsheesh  with  the  roaring 
Arab  boatmen;  and  I  recall  with  wonder  and  delight 
especi,  \\y,  the  curses  and  screams  of  one  small  and  ex- 
tremely loud-lunged  fellow,  who  expressed  discontent 
at  receiving  a  five,  instead  of  a  six  piastre  piece.  But 
how  is  one  to  know,  without  possessing  the  language? 


JAFFA  395 

Both  coins  are  made  of  a  greasy  pewtery  sort  of  tin; 
and  I  thought  the  biggest  was  the  most  valuable:  but 
the  fellow  showed  a  sense  of  their  v^alue,  and  a  dispo- 
sition seemingly  to  cut  any  man's  throat  who  did  not 
understand  it.  Men's  throats  have  been  cut  for  a  less 
difference  before  now. 

Being  cast  upon  the  ledge,  the  first  care  of  our  gal- 
lantry was  to  look  after  the  ladies,  who  were  scared  and 
astonished  by  the  naked  savage  brutes,  who  were  shoul- 
dering the  poor  things  to  and  fro;  and  bearing  them 
through  these  and  a  dark  archway,  we  came  into  a  street 
crammed  with  donkeys  and  their  packs  and  drivers,  and 
towering  camels  with  leering  eyes  looking  into  the  sec- 
ond-floor rooms,  and  huge  splay  feet,  through  which 
mesdames  et  mesdemoisellcs  were  to  be  conducted.  We 
made  a  rush  at  the  first  open  door,  and  passed  comfort- 
ably under  the  heels  of  some  horses  gathered  under  the 
arched  court,  and  up  a  stone  staircase,  which  turned  out 
to  be  that  of  the  Russian  consul's  house.  His  people 
welcomed  us  most  cordially  to  his  abode,  and  the  ladies 
and  the  luggage  (objects  of  our  solicitude)  were  led  up 
many  stairs  and  across  several  terraces  to  a  most  com- 
fortable little  room,  under  a  dome  of  its  own,  where  the 
representative  of  Russia  sat.  Women  with  brown  faces 
and  draggle-tailed  coats  and  turbans,  and  wondering 
eyes,  and  no  stays,  and  blue  beads  and  gold  coins  hang- 
ing round  their  necks,  came  to  gaze,  as  they  passed, 
upon  the  fair  neat  Englishwomen.  Blowsy  black  cooks 
puffing  over  fires  and  the  strangest  pots  and  ]ians  on  the 
terraces,  children  paddling  about  in  long  striped  robes, 
interrupted  their  sports  or  labours  to  come  and  stare; 
and  the  consul,  in  his  cool  domed  chamber,  with  a  lattice 
overlooking  the  sea,  with  clean  mats,  and  pictures  of 


396  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  Emperor,  the  Virgin,  and  St.  George,  received  the 
strangers  with  smihng  courtesies,  regaling  the  ladies 
with  pomegranates  and  sugar,  the  gentlemen  with  pipes 
of  tobacco,  whereof  the  fragrant  tubes  were  three  yards 
long. 

The  Russian  amenities  concluded,  we  left  the  ladies 
still  under  the  comfortable,  cool  dome  of  the  Russian 
consulate,  and  went  to  see  our  own  representative.  The 
streets  of  the  little  town  are  neither  agreeable  to  horse 
nor  foot  travellers.  Many  of  the  streets  are  mere  flights 
of  rough  steps,  leading  abruptly  into  private  houses: 
you  pass  under  archways  and  passages  numberless;  a 
steep,  dirty  labyrinth  of  stone-vaulted  stables  and  sheds 
occupies  the  ground-floor  of  the  habitations;  and  you 
pass  from  flat  to  flat  of  the  terraces ;  at  various  irregular 
corners  of  which,  little  chambers,  with  little  private 
domes,  are  erected,  and  the  people  live  seemingly  as 
much  upon  the  terrace  as  in  the  room. 

We  found  the  English  consul  in  a  queer  little  arched 
chamber,  with  a  strange  old  picture  of  the  King's  arms 
to  decorate  one  side  of  it:  and  here  the  consul,  a  de- 
mure old  man,  dressed  in  red  flowing  robes,  with  a  fee- 
ble janissary  bearing  a  shabby  tin-mounted  staff*,  or 
mace,  to  denote  his  office,  received  such  of  our  nation 
as  came  to  him  for  hospitality.  He  distributed  pipes 
and  coff^ee  to  all  and  every  one;  he  made  us  a  present 
of  his  house  and  all  his  beds  for  the  night,  and  went  him- 
self to  lie  quietly  on  the  terrace;  and  for  all  this  hos- 
pitality he  declined  to  receive  any  reward  from  us,  and 
said  he  was  but  doing  his  duty  in  taking  us  in.  This 
worthy  man,  I  thought,  must  doubtless  be  very  well 
paid  by  our  Government  for  making  such  sacrifices; 
but  it  appears  that  he  does  not  get  one  single  farthing, 


JAFFA  397 

and  that  the  greater  number  of  our  Levant  consuls  are 
paid  at  a  similar  rate  of  easy  remuneration.  If  we  have 
bad  consular  agents,  have  we  a  right  to  complain?  If 
the  worthy  gentlemen  cheat  occasionally,  can  we  rea- 
sonably be  angry?  But  in  travelhng  through  these 
countries,  English  people,  who  don't  take  into  consider- 
ation the  miserable  poverty  and  scanty  resources  of 
their  country,  and  are  apt  to  brag  and  be  proud  of  it, 
have  their  vanity  hurt  by  seeing  the  representatives  of 
every  nation  but  their  own  well  and  decently  main- 
tained, and  feel  ashamed  at  sitting  down  under  the 
shabby  protection  of  our  mean  consular  flag. 

The  active  young  men  of  our  party  had  been  on 
shore  long  before  us,  and  seized  upon  all  the  available 
horses  in  the  town;  but  we  relied  upon  a  letter  from 
Halil  Pacha,  enjoining  all  governors  and  pashas  to  help 
us  in  all  ways:  and  hearing  we  were  the  bearers  of 
this  document,  the  cadi  and  vice-governor  of  Jaffa  came 
to  wait  upon  the  head  of  our  party;  declared  that  it  was 
his  delight  and  honour  to  set  eyes  upon  us;  that  he 
would  do  everything  in  the  world  to  serve  us ;  that  there 
were  no  horses,  unluckily,  but  he  would  send  and  get 
some  in  three  hours ;  and  so  left  us  with  a  world  of  grin- 
ning bows  and  many  choice  compliments  from  one  side 
to  the  other,  which  came  to  each  filtered  through  an 
obsequious  interpreter.  But  hours  passed,  and  the  clat- 
ter of  horses'  hoofs  was  not  heard.  We  had  our  dinner 
of  eggs  and  flaps  of  bread,  and  the  sunset  gun  fired :  we 
had  our  pipes  and  coffee  again,  and  the  night  fell.  Is 
this  man  throwing  dirt  upon  us?  we  began  to  think.  Is 
he  laughing  at  our  beards,  and  are  our  mothers'  graves 
ill-treated  by  this  smiling,  swindling  cadi?  We  deter- 
mined to  go  and  seek  in  his  own  den  this  shuffling  dis- 


398  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

penser  of  infidel  justice.  This  time  we  would  be  no 
more  bamboozled  by  compliments ;  but  we  would  use  the 
language  of  stern  expostulation,  and,  being  roused, 
would  let  the  rascal  hear  the  roar  of  the  indignant  Brit- 
ish lion;  so  we  rose  up  in  our  wrath.  The  poor  consul 
got  a  lamp  for  us  with  a  bit  of  wax-candle,  such  as  I 
wonder  his  means  could  afford;  the  shabby  janissary 
marched  ahead  with  his  tin  mace;  the  two  laquais-de- 
place,  that  two  of  our  company  had  hired,  stepped  for- 
ward, each  with  an  old  sabre,  and  we  went  clattering 
and  stumbling  down  the  streets  of  the  town,  in  order 
to  seize  upon  this  cadi  in  his  own  divan.  I  was  glad, 
for  my  pavt  (though  outwardly  majestic  and  indig- 
nant in  demeanour),  that  the  horses  had  not  come,  and 
that  we  had  a  chance  of  seeing  this  little  queer  glimpse 
of  Oriental  life,  which  the  magistrate's  faithlessness 
procured  for  us. 

As  piety  forbids  the  Turks  to  eat  during  the  weary 
daylight  hours  of  the  Ramazan,  they  spend  their  time 
profitably  in  sleeping  until  the  welcome  sunset,  when 
the  town  wakens:  all  the  lanterns  are  lighted  up;  all 
the  pipes  begin  to  puff,  and  the  narghiles  to  bubble; 
all  the  sour-milk-and-sherbet-men  begin  to  yell  out  the 
excellence  of  their  wares;  all  the  frying-pans  in  the  lit- 
tle dirty  cookshops  begin  to  friz,  and  the  pots  to  send 
forth  a  steam :  and  through  this  dingy,  ragged,  bustling, 
beggarly,  cheerful  scene,  we  began  now  to  march  to- 
wards the  Bow  Street  of  Jaffa.  We  bustled  tlu'ough 
a  crowded  narrow  archway  which  led  to  the  cadi's  po- 
lice-office, entered  the  little  room,  atrociously  perfumed 
with  musk,  and  passing  by  the  rail-board,  where  the 
common  sort  stood,  mounted  the  stage  upon  which  his 
worship   and   friends   sat,   and   squatted   down  on  the 


THE   CADI'S   DIVAN  399 

divans  in  stern  and  silent  dignity.  His  honour  ordered 
us  coffee,  his  countenance  evidently  showing  consider- 
able alarm.  A  black  slave,  whose  duty  seemed  to  be 
to  prepare  this  beverage  in  a  side-room  with  a  furnace, 
prepared  for  each  of  us  about  a  teaspoonful  of  the 
liquor:  his  worship's  clerk,  I  presume,  a  tall  Turk  of  a 
noble  aspect,  presented  it  to  us;  and  having  lapped  up 
the  little  modicum  of  drink,  the  British  lion  began  to 
speak. 

All  the  other  travellers  (said  the  lion  with  perfect 
reason)  have  good  horses  and  are  gone;  the  Russians 
have  got  horses,  the  Spaniards  have  horses,  the  English 
have  horses,  but  we,  we— viziers  in  our  country,  coming 
with  letters  of  Halil  Pacha,  are  laughed  at,  spit  upon! 
Are  Halil  Pacha's  letters  dirt,  that  you  attend  to  them 
in  this  way?  Are  British  lions  dogs  that  you  treat 
them  so?— and  so  on.  This  speech  with  many  varia- 
tions was  made  on  our  side  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour; 
and  we  finall}^  swore  that  unless  the  horses  were  forth- 
coming we  would  write  to  Halil  Pacha  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  to  his  Excellency  the  English  IMinister  at  the 
Sublime  Porte.  Then  you  should  have  heard  the  chorus 
of  Turks  in  reply:  a  dozen  voices  rose  up  from  the 
divan,  shouting,  screaming,  ejaculating,  expectorating 
(the  Arabic  spoken  language  seems  to  require  a  great 
emploj^ment  of  the  two  latter  oratorical  methods),  and 
uttering  what  the  meek  interpreter  did  not  translate  to 
us,  but  what  I  dare  say  were  by  no  means  complimen- 
tary phrases  towards  us  and  our  nation.  Finally,  the 
palaver  concluded  by  the  cadi  declaring  that  by  the  wall 
of  heaven  horses  should  be  forthcoming  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning;  and  that  if  not,  why,  then,  we  might 
write  to  Halil  Pacha. 


400  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

This  posed  us,  and  we  rose  up  and  haughtily  took 
leave.  I  should  like  to  know  that  fellow's  real  opinion 
of  us  lions  very  much:  and  especially  to  have  had  the 
translation  of  the  speeches  of  a  huge-breeched  tur- 
baned  roaring  infidel,  who  looked  and  spoke  as  if  he 
would  have  liked  to  fling  us  all  into  the  sea,  which  was 
hoarsely  murmuring  under  our  windows  an  accompani- 
ment to  the  concert  within. 

We  then  marched  through  the  bazaars,  that  were  lofty 
and  grim,  and  pretty  full  of  people.  In  a  desolate 
broken  building,  some  hundreds  of  children  were  play- 
ing and  singing;  in  many  corners  sat  parties  over  their 
water-pipes,  one  of  whom  every  now  and  then  would 
begin  twanging  out  a  most  queer  chant;  others  there 
were  playing  at  casino — a  crowd  squatted  around  the 
squalling  gamblers,  and  talking  and  looking  on  with 
eager  interest.  In  one  place  of  the  bazaar  we  found  a 
hundred  people  at  least  listening  to  a  story-teller,  who 
delivered  his  tale  with  excellent  action,  voice,  and  volu- 
bility :  in  another  they  were  playing  a  sort  of  thimblerig 
with  coffee-cups,  all  intent  upon  the  game,  and  the 
player  himself  very  wild  lest  one  of  our  party,  who  had 
discovered  where  the  pea  lay,  should  tell  the  company. 
The  devotion  and  energy  with  which  all  these  pastimes 
were  pursued,  struck  me  as  much  as  anything.  These 
people  have  been  playing  thimblerig  and  casino;  that 
story-teller  has  been  shouting  his  tale  of  Antar  for  forty 
years;  and  they  are  just  as  happy  with  this  amusement 
now  as  when  first  they  tried  it.  Is  there  no  ennui  in 
the  Eastern  countries,  and  are  blue-devils  not  allowed 
to  go  abroad  there? 

From  the  bazaars  we  went  to  see  the  house  of  Mus- 
tapha,  said  to  be  the  best  house  and  the  greatest  man  of 


A   NIGHT    IN    SYRIA  401 

Jaffa.  But  the  great  man  had  absconded  suddenly,  and 
had  fled  into  Egypt.  The  Sultan  had  made  a  demand 
upon  limi  for  sixteen  thousand  purses,  80,000/.— Mus- 
tapha  retired— the  Sultan  pounced  down  upon  his  house, 
and  his  goods,  his  horses  and  his  mules.  His  harem 
was  desolate.  Mr.  Milnes  could  have  written  six  affect- 
ing poems,  had  he  been  with  us,  on  the  dark  loneliness 
of  that  violated  sanctuary.  We  passed  from  hall  to 
hall,  terrace  to  terrace — a  few  fellows  were  slumbering 
on  the  naked  floors,  and  scarce  turned  as  we  went  by 
them.  We  entered  Mustapha's  particular  divan — there 
was  the  raised  floor,  but  no  bearded  friends  squatting 
away  the  night  of  Ramazan;  there  was  the  little  coffee 
furnace,  but  where  was  the  slave  and  the  coffee  and  the 
glowing  embers  of  the  pipes?  Mustapha's  favourite 
passages  from  the  Koran  were  still  painted  upon  the 
walls,  but  nobody  was  the  wiser  for  them.  We  walked 
over  a  sleeping  negro,  and  opened  the  windows  which 
looked  into  his  gardens.  The  horses  and  donkeys,  the 
camels  and  mules  were  picketed  there  below,  but  where 
is  the  said  Mustapha?  From  the  frying-pan  of  the 
Porte,  has  he  not  fallen  into  the  fire  of  Mehemet  Ali? 
And  which  is  best,  to  broil  or  to  fry?  If  it  be  but  to  read 
the  "Arabian  Nights  "  again  on  getting  home,  it  is  good 
to  have  made  this  little  voyage  and  seen  these  strange 
places  and  faces. 

Then  we  went  out  through  the  arched  lowering  gate- 
way of  the  town  into  the  plain  beyond,  and  that  was 
another  famous  and  brilliant  scene  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  The  heaven  shone  with  a  marvellous  bril- 
liancy— the  plain  disappeared  far  in  the  haze — the 
towers  and  battlements  of  the  town  rose  black  against 
the  sky— old  outlandish  trees  rose  up  here  and  there 


402  JOURNEY  FROM  CORXHILL  TO  CAIRO 

— clumps  of  camels  were  couched  in  the  rare  herbage — 
dogs  were  baying  about — groups  of  men  lay  sleeping 
under  their  haicks  round  about — round  about  the  tall 
gates  many  lights  were  twinkling — and  they  brought 
us  water-pipes  and  sherbet — and  we  wondered  to  think 
that  London  was  only  three  weeks  off. 

Then  came  the  night  at  the  consul's.  The  poor  de- 
mure old  gentleman  brought  out  his  mattresses ;  and  the 
ladies  sleeping  round  on  the  divans,  we  lay  down  quite 
happy ;  and  I  for  my  part  intended  to  make  as  dehght- 
ful  dreams  as  Alnaschar;  but— lo,  the  delicate  mos- 
quito sounded  his  horn:  the  active  flea  jumped  up,  and 
came  to  feast  on  Christian  flesh  (the  Eastern  flea  bites 
more  bitterly  tlian  the  most  savage  bug  in  Christen- 
dom), and  tlie  bug— oh,  the  accursed!  Why  was  he 
made  ?  What  duty  has  that  infamous  ruflian  to  perform 
in  the  world,  save  to  make  people  wretched?  Onlj^ 
Bulwer  in  his  most  patlietic  style  could  describe  the 
miseries  of  that  night— the  moaning,  the  groaning,  the 
cursing,  the  tumbling,  the  blistering,  the  infamous  de- 
spair and  degradation!  I  heard  all  the  cocks  in  Jaffa 
crow;  the  children  crying,  and  the  mothers  hushing 
them;  tlie  donkeys  braying  fitfully  in  the  moonlight; 
at  last,  I  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  below,  and  the  hail- 
ing of  men.  It  was  three  o'clock,  the  horses  were  ac- 
tuallj'-  come;  nay,  there  were  camels  likewise;  asses  and 
mules,  pack-saddles  and  drivers,  all  bustling  together 
under  the  moonlight  in  the  cheerful  street — and  the 
first  night  in  Syria  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FROM    JAFFA   TO    JERUSALEM 

IT  took  an  hour  or  more  to  get  our  little  caravan  into 
marching  order,  to  accommodate  all  the  packs  to  the 
horses,  the  horses  to  the  riders;  to  see  the  ladies  com- 
fortably placed  in  their  litter,  with  a  sleek  and  large 
black  mule  fore  and  aft,  a  groom  to  each  mule,  and  a 
tall  and  exceedingly  good-natured  and  mahogany-col- 
oured infidel  to  walk  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  to  bal- 
ance it  as  it  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  to  offer  his  back  as 
a  step  to  the  inmates  whenever  they  were  minded  to 
ascend  or  alight.  These  three  fellows,  fasting  through 
the  Ramazan,  and  over  as  rough  a  road,  for  the  greater 
part,  as  ever  shook  mortal  bones,  performed  their  four- 
teen hours'  walk  of  near  fort}^  miles  Avith  the  most  ad- 
mirable courage,  alacrity,  and  good  humour.  They  once 
or  twice  drank  water  on  the  march,  and  so  far  infringed 
the  rule;  but  they  refused  all  bread  or  edible  refresh- 
ment offered  to  them,  and  tugged  on  with  an  energy 
that  the  best  camel,  and  I  am  sure  the  best  Christian, 
might  envy.  What  a  lesson  of  good-humoured  endur- 
ance it  was  to  certain  Pall  IMall  Sardanapaluses,  who 
grumble  if  club  sofa  cushions  are  not  soft  enough! 

If  I  could  wi'ite  sonnets  at  leisure,  I  would  like  to 
chronicle  in  fourteen  lines  my  sensations  on  finding 
myself  on  a  high  Turkish  saddle,  with  a  pair  of  fire- 
shovel  stirrups  and  worsted  reins,  red  padded  saddle- 
cloth, and  innumerable  tags,  fringes,  glass-beads,  ends 

403 


404  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

of  rope,  to  decorate  the  harness  of  the  horse,  the  gallant 
steed  on  which  I  was  about  to  gallop  into  Syrian  life. 
What  a  figure  we  cut  in  the  moonlight,  and  how  they 
would  have  stared  in  the  Strand!  Ay,  or  in  Leicester- 
shire, where  I  warrant  such  a  horse  and  rider  are  not 
often  visible!  The  shovel  stirrups  are  deucedly  short; 
the  clumsy  leathers  cut  the  shins  of  some  equestrians 
abominably;  you  sit  over  your  horse  as  it  were  on  a 
tower,  from  which  the  descent  would  be  very  easy,  but 
for  the  big  peak  of  the  saddle.  A  good  way  for  the 
inexperienced  is  to  put  a  stick  or  umbrella  across  the 
saddle  peak  again,  so  that  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  go 
over  your  horse's  neck.  I  found  this  a  vast  comfort  in 
going  down  the  hills,  and  recommend  it  conscientiously 
to  other  dear  simple  brethren  of  the  city. 

Peaceful  men,  we  did  not  ornament  our  girdles  with 
pistols,  yataghans,  &c.,  such  as  some  pilgrims  appeared 
to  bristle  all  over  with ;  and  as  a  lesson  to  such  rash  peo- 
ple, a  story  may  be  told  which  was  narrated  to  us  at 
Jerusalem,  and  carries  a  wholesome  moral.  The  Hon- 
ourable Hoggin  Armer,  who  was  lately  travelhng  in 
the  East,  wore  about  his  stomach  two  brace  of  pistols, 
of  such  exquisite  finish  and  make,  that  a  Sheikh,  in  the 
Jericho  countrj^  robbed  him  merely  for  the  sake  of  the 
pistols.  I  don't  know  whether  he  has  told  the  story  to 
his  friends  at  home. 

Another  story  about  Sheikhs  may  here  be  told  apro- 
pos. That  celebrated  Irish  Peer,  Lord  Oldgent  (who 
was  distinguished  in  the  Buckinghamshire  Dragoons), 
having  paid  a  sort  of  blackmail  to  the  Sheikh  of  Jeri- 
cho country,  was  suddenly  set  upon  by  another  Sheikh, 
who  claimed  to  be  the  real  Jerichonian  governor;  and 
these  twins  quarrelled  over  the  body  of  Lord  Oldgent, 


A  CAVALCADE  405 

as  the  widows  for  the  innocent  baby  before  Solomon. 
There  was  enough  for  both — but  these  digressions  are 
interminable.  \ 

The  party  got  under  way  at  near  four  o'clock:  the 
ladies  in  the  litter,  the  French  femme-de-chamhre  man- 
fully caracoling  on  a  grey  horse ;  the  cavaliers,  like  your 
humble  servant,  on  their  high  saddles;  the  domestics, 
flunkies,  guides,  and  grooms,  on  all  sorts  of  animals, — 
some  fourteen  in  all.  Add  to  these,  two  most  grave  and 
stately  Arabs  in  white  beards,  white  turbans,  white 
haicks  and  raiments;  sabres  curling  round  their  mili- 
tary thighs,  and  immense  long  guns  at  their  backs. 
More  venerable  warriors  I  never  saw;  they  went  hy  the 
side  of  the  litter  soberly  prancing.  When  we  emerged 
from  the  steep  clattering  streets  of  the  city  into  the 
grey  plains,  lighted  by  the  moon  and  starlight,  these 
militaries  rode  onward,  leading  the  way  through  the 
huge  avenues  of  strange  diabolical-looking  prickly 
pears  (plants  that  look  as  if  they  had  grown  in  Tar- 
tarus) ,  by  which  the  first  mile  or  two  of  route  from  the 
city  is  bounded;  and  as  the  dawn  arose  before  us,  ex- 
hibiting first  a  streak  of  grey,  then  of  green,  then  of  red 
in  the  sky,  it  was  fine  to  see  these  martial  figures  de- 
fined against  the  rising  light.  The  sight  of  that  little 
cavalcade,  and  of  the  nature  around  it,  will  always  re- 
main with  me,  I  think,  as  one  of  the  freshest  and  most 
delightful  sensations  I  have  enjoyed  since  the  day  I 
first  saw  Calais  pier.  It  was  full  day  when  they  gave 
their  horses  a  drink  at  a  large  pretty  Oriental  fountain, 
and  then  presently  we  entered  the  open  plain — the  fa- 
mous plain  of  Sharon — so  fruitful  in  roses  once,  now 
hardly  cultivated,  but  always  beautiful  and  noble. 

Here,  presently,  in  the  distance,  we  saw  another  cav- 


406  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

alcade  pricking  over  the  plain.  Our  two  white  warriors 
spread  to  the  right  and  left,  and  galloped  to  recon- 
noitre. We,  too,  put  our  steeds  to  the  canter,  and 
handling  our  umbrellas  as  Richard  did  his  lance  against 
Saladin,  went  undaunted  to  challenge  this  caravan. 
The  fact  is,  we  could  distinguish  that  it  was  formed  of 
the  party  of  our  pious  friends  the  Poles,  and  we  hailed 
them  with  cheerful  shouting,  and  presently  the  two 
caravans  joined  company,  and  scoured  the  plain  at  the 
rate  of  near  four  miles  per  hour.  The  horse-master, 
a  courier  of  this  company,  rode  three  miles  for  our  one. 
He  was  a  broken-nosed  Arab,  with  pistols,  a  sabre,  a 
fusee,  a  yellow  Damascus  cloth  flapping  over  his  head, 
and  his  nose  ornamented  with  diachylon.  He  rode  a 
hog-necked  grey  Arab,  bristling  over  with  harness,  and 
jumped,  and  whirled,  and  reared,  and  halted,  to  the 
admiration  of  all. 

Scarce  had  the  diachylonian  Arab  finished  his  evolu- 
tions, when  lo!  yet  another  cloud  of  dust  was  seen,  and 
another  party  of  armed  and  glittering  horsemen  ap- 
peared. They,  too,  were  led  by  an  Arab,  who  was  fol- 
lowed by  two  janissaries,  with  silver  maces  shining  in 
the  sun.  'Twas  the  part}^  of  the  new  American  Consul- 
General  of  Syria  and  Jerusalem,  hastening  to  that  city, 
with  the  inferior  consuls  of  Ramleh  and  Jaffa  to  escort 
him.  He  expects  to  see  the  Millennium  in  three  years, 
and  has  accepted  the  office  of  consul  at  Jerusalem,  so  as 
to  be  on  the  spot  in  readiness. 

When  the  diachylon  Arab  saw  the  American  Arab, 
he  straightway  galloped  his  steed  towards  him,  took  his 
pipe,  which  he  delivered  at  his  adversary  in  guise  of  a 
j  creed,  and  galloped  round  and  round,  and  in  and  out, 
and  there  and  back  again,  as  in  a  play  of  war.     The 


RAMLEH  407 

American  replied  in  a  similar  playful  ferocity— the  two 
warriors  made  a  little  tournament  for  us  there  on  the 
plains  before  Jaffa,  in  the  which  diachylon,  being  a  little 
worsted,  challenged  his  adversary  to  a  race,  and  fled 
away  on  his  grey,  the  American  following  on  his  bay. 
Here  poor  sticking-plaster  was  again  worsted,  the  Yan- 
kee contemptuously  riding  round  him,  and  then  declin- 
ing further  exercise. 

What  more  could  mortal  man  want?  A  troop  of 
knights  and  paladins  could  have  done  no  more.  In  no 
page  of  Walter  Scott  have  I  read  a  scene  more  fair  and 
sparkling.  The  sober  warriors  of  our  escort  did  not  join 
in  the  gambols  of  the  young  men.  There  they  rode 
soberly,  in  their  white  turbans,  by  their  ladies'  litter, 
their  long  guns  rising  up  behind  them. 

There  was  no  lack  of  company  along  the  road:  don- 
keys numberless,  camels  by  twos  and  threes ;  now  a  mule- 
driver,  trudging  along  the  road,  chanting  a  most  queer 
melody;  now  a  lady,  in  white  veil,  black  mask,  and  yel- 
low papooshes,  bestriding  her  ass,  and  followed  bj^  her 
husband, — met  us  on  the  way;  and  most  people  gave  a 
salutation.  Presently  we  saw  Ramleh,  in  a  smoking 
mist,  on  the  plain  before  us,  flanked  to  the  right  by  a  tall 
lonely  tower,  that  might  have  held  the  bells  of  some 
moutier  of  Caen  or  Evreux.  As  we  entered,  about  three 
hours  and  a  half  after  starting,  among  the  white  domes 
and  stone  houses  of  the  little  town,  we  passed  the  place 
of  tombs.  Two  women  were  sitting  on  one  of  them, — 
the  one  bending  her  head  towards  the  stone,  and  rocking 
to  and  fro,  and  moaning  out  a  very  sweet,  pitiful  lamen- 
tation. The  American  consul  invited  us  to  breakfast 
at  the  house  of  his  subaltern,  the  hospitable  one-eyed 
Armenian,  who  represents  the  United  States  at  Jafl*a. 


408  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  stars  and  stripes  were  flaunting  over  his  terraces, 
to  which  we  ascended,  leaving  our  horses  to  the  care  of  a 
multitude  of  roaring,  ragged  Arabs  beneath,  who  took 
charge  of  and  fed  the  animals,  though  I  can't  say  in  the 
least  why;  but,  in  the  same  way  as  getting  off  my  horse 
on  entering  Jerusalem,  I  gave  the  rein  into  the  hand 
of  the  first  person  near  me,  and  have  never  heard  of  the 
worthy  brute  since.  At  the  American  consul's  we  were 
served  first  with  rice  soup  in  pishpash,  flavoured  with 
cinnamon  and  spice;  then  with  boiled  mutton,  then  with 
stewed  ditto  and  tomatoes;  then  with  fowls  swimming 
in  grease;  then  with  brown  ragouts  belaboured  with 
onions;  then  with  a  smoking  pilaff  of  rice:  several  of 
which  dishes  I  can  pronounce  to  be  of  excellent  material 
and  flavour.  When  the  gentry  had  concluded  this  re- 
past, it  was  handed  to  a  side-table,  where  the  common- 
alty speedily  discussed  it.  We  left  them  licking  their 
fingers  as  we  hastened  away  upon  the  second  part  of 
the  ride. 

And  as  we  quitted  Ramleh,  the  scenery  lost  that  sweet 
and  peaceful  look  which  characterizes  the  pretty  plain 
we  had  traversed ;  and  the  sun,  too,  rising  in  the  heaven, 
dissipated  all  those  fresh,  beautiful  tints  in  which  God's 
world  is  clothed  of  early  morning,  and  which  city  peo- 
ple have  so  seldom  the  chance  of  beholding.  The  plain 
over  which  we  rode  looked  j^ellow  and  gloomy;  the  cul- 
tivation little  or  none;  the  land  across  the  roadside 
fringed,  for  the  most  part,  with  straggling  wild  carrot 
plants;  a  patch  of  green  only  here  and  there.  We 
passed  several  herds  of  lean,  small,  well-conditioned  cat- 
tle: manj'^  flocks  of  black  goats,  tended  now  and  then 
by  a  ragged  negro  shejjherd,  his  long  gun  slung  over 
his  back,  his  hand  over  his  ej^es  to  shade  them  as  he 


ROAD-SIDE    SKETCHES  409 

stared  at  our  little  cavalcade.  Most  of  the  half -naked 
country-follvs  we  met,  had  this  dismal  appendage  to 
Eastern  rustic  life ;  and  the  weapon  could  hardly  be  one 
of  mere  defence,  for,  beyond  the  faded  skull-cap,  or  tat- 
tered coat  of  blue  or  dirty  white,  the  brawny,  brown- 
chested,  solemn-looking  fellows  had  nothing  seemingly 
to  guard.  As  before,  there  was  no  lack  of  travellers  on 
the  road:  more  donkej^s  trotted  by,  looking  sleek  and 
strong;  camels  singly  and  by  pairs,  laden  with  a  little 
humble  ragged  merchandise,  on  their  way  between  the 
two  towns.  About  noon  we  halted  eagerly  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  an  Arab  village  and  well,  where  all  were 
glad  of  a  drink  of  fresh  water.  A  village  of  beavers, 
or  a  colony  of  ants,  make  habitations  not  unlike  these 
dismal  huts  piled  together  on  the  plain  here.  There 
were  no  single  huts  along  the  whole  line  of  road;  poor 
and  wretched  as  they  are,  the  Fellahs  huddle  all  to- 
gether for  protection  from  the  other  thieves  their  neigh- 
bours. The  government  (which  we  restored  to  them) 
has  no  power  to  protect  them,  and  is  only  strong  enough 
to  rob  them.  The  women,  with  their  long  blue  gowns 
and  ragged  veils,  came  to  and  fro  with  pitchers  on  their 
heads.  Rebecca  had  such  an  one  when  she  brought 
drink  to  the  lieutenant  of  Abraham.  The  boys  came 
staring  round,  bawling  after  us  with  their  fathers  for 
the  inevitable  backsheesh.  The  village  dogs  barked 
round  the  flocks,  as  they  were  driven  to  water  or  pasture. 

We  saw  a  gloomy,  not  very  lofty-looking  ridge  of 
hills  in  front  of  us ;  the  highest  of  which  the  guide  point- 
ing out  to  us,  told  us  that  from  it  we  should  see  Jeru- 
salem. It  looked  very  near,  and  we  all  set  up  a  trot  of 
enthusiasm  to  get  into  this  hill  country. 

But  that  burst  of  enthusiasm  (it  may  have  carried  us 


410  JOURXEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  three  minutes)  was  soon 
destined  to  be  checked  by  the  disagreeable  nature  of  the 
country  we  had  to  traverse.  Before  we  got  to  the  real 
mountain  district,  we  were  in  a  manner  prepared  for  it, 
by  the  mounting  and  descent  of  several  lonely  outlying 
hills,  up  and  down  which  our  rough  stony  track  wound. 
Then  we  entered  the  hill  district,  and  our  path  lay 
through  the  clattering  bed  of  an  ancient  stream,  whose 
brawling  waters  have  rolled  away  into  the  past,  along 
with  the  fierce  and  turbulent  race  who  once  inhabited 
these  savage  hills.  There  may  have  been  cultivation  here 
two  thousand  years  ago.  The  mountains,  or  huge  stony 
mounds  environing  this  rough  path,  have  level  ridges 
all  the  wa\^  up  to  their  summits ;  on  these  parallel  ledges 
there  is  still  some  verdure  and  soil:  when  water  flowed 
here,  and  the  countr}^  was  thronged  with  that  extraor- 
dinary^ population,  which,  according  to  the  Sacred  His- 
tories, was  crowded  into  the  region,  these  mountain  steps 
may  have  been  gardens  and  vineyards,  such  as  we  see 
now  thriving  along  the  hills  of  the  Rhine.  Now  the 
district  is  quite  deserted,  and  you  ride  among  what  seem 
to  be  so  many  petrified  waterfalls.  We  saw  no  animals 
moving  among  the  stony  brakes;  scarcely  even  a  dozen 
little  birds  in  the  whole  course  of  the  ride.  The  spar- 
rows are  all  at  Jerusalem,  among  the  house-tops,  where 
their  ceaseless  chirping  and  twittering  forms  the  most 
cheerful  sound  of  the  place. 

The  company  of  Poles,  the  company  of  Oxford  men, 
and  the  little  American  army,  travelled  too  quick  for  our 
caravan,  which  was  made  to  follow  the  slow  progress  of 
the  ladies'  litter,  and  we  had  to  make  the  journey 
through  the  mountains  in  a  very  small  number.  Not 
one  of  our  party  had  a  single  weapon  more  dreadful 


ROAD-SIDE   SKETCHES  4>lV 

than  an  umbrella:  and  a  couple  of  Arabs,  wickedly  in- 
clined, might  have  brought  us  all  to  the  halt,  and  rifled 
every  carpet-bag  and  pocket  belonging  to  us.  Nor  can 
I  say  that  we  journeyed  without  certain  qualms  of  fear. 
When  swarthy  fellows,  with  girdles  full  of  pistols  and 
yataghans,  passed  us  without  unslinging  their  long 
guns: — when  scowling  camel-riders,  with  awful  long 
bending  lances,  decorated  with  tufts  of  rags,  or  savage 
plumes  of  scarlet  feathers,  went  by  without  molestation, 
I  think  we  were  rather  glad  that  they  did  not  stop  and 
parley:  for,  after  all,  a  British  lion  with  an  umbrella 
is  no  match  for  an  Arab  with  his  infernal  long-  sun. 
What,  too,  would  have  become  of  our  women?  So  we 
tried  to  think  that  it  was  entirely  out  of  anxiety  for  them 
that  we  were  inclined  to  push  on. 

There  is  a  shady  resting-place  and  village  in  the  midst 
of  the  mountain  district  where  the  travellers  are  ac- 
customed to  halt  for  an  hour's  repose  and  refreshment; 
and  the  other  caravans  were  just  quitting  this  spot,  hav- 
ing enjoyed  its  cool  shades  and  waters,  when  we  came 
up.  Should  we  stop?  Regard  for  the  ladies  (of  course 
no  other  earthly  consideration)  made  us  say,  "No!" 
What  admirable  self-denial  and  chivalrous  devotion! 
So  our  poor  devils  of  mules  and  horses  got  no  rest  and 
no  water,  our  panting  litter-men  no  breathing  time,  and 
we  staggered  desperately  after  the  procession  ahead  of 
us.  It  wound  up  the  mountain  in  front  of  us :  the  Poles 
with  their  guns  and  attendants,  the  American  with  his 
janissaries;  fifty  or  sixty  all  riding  slowly  like  the  pro- 
cession in  "  Bluebeard." 

But  alas,  they  headed  us  very  soon;  when  we  got  up 
the  weary  hill  thej?^  were  all  out  of  sight.  Perhaps 
thoughts  of  Fleet  Street  did  cross  the  minds  of  some 


412  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

of  us  then,  and  a  vague  desire  to  see  a  few  policemen. 
The  district  now  seemed  peopled,  and  with  an  ugly  race. 
Savage  personages  peered  at  us  out  of  huts,  and  grim 
holes  in  the  rocks.  The  mules  began  to  loiter  most 
abominably — water  the  muleteers  must  have — and,  be- 
hold, we  came  to  a  pleasant-looking  village  of  trees 
standing  on  a  hill;  children  were  shaking  figs  from  the 
trees — women  were  going  about — before  us  was  the 
mosque  of  a  holy  man — the  village,  looking  like  a  col- 
lection of  little  forts,  rose  up  on  the  hill  to  our  right,  with 
a  long  view  of  the  fields  and  gardens  stretching  from 
it,  and  camels  arriving  with  their  burdens.  Here  we 
must  stop ;  Paolo,  the  chief  servant,  knew  the  Sheikh  of 
the  village — he  very  good  man — give  him  water  and 
supper — water  very  good  here — in  fact  we  began  to 
think  of  the  propriety  of  halting  here  for  the  night,  and 
making  our  entrj^  into  Jerusalem  on  the  next  day. 

A  man  on  a  handsome  horse  dressed  in  red  came 
prancing  up  to  us,  looking  hard  at  the  ladies  in  the 
litter,  and  passed  away.  Then  two  others  sauntered  up, 
one  handsome,  and  dressed  in  red  too,  and  he  stared 
into  the  litter  without  ceremony,  began  to  play  with  a 
little  dog  that  lay  there,  asked  if  we  were  Inglees,  and 
was  answered  by  me  in  the  affirmative.  Paolo  had 
brought  the  water,  the  most  delicious  draught  in  the 
world.  The  gentlefolks  had  had  some,  the  poor  mule- 
teers were  longing  for  it.  The  French  maid,  the  coura- 
geous Victoire  (never  since  the  days  of  Joan  of  Arc 
has  there  surely  been  a  more  gallant  and  virtuous  female 
of  France)  refused  the  drink;  when  suddenly  a  ser- 
vant of  the  party  scampers  up  to  his  master  and  says: 
*'  Abou  Gosh  says  the  ladies  must  get  out  and  show 
themselves  to  the  women  of  the  village! " 


NIGHT   BEFORE   JERUSALEM        413 

It  was  Abou  Gosh  himself,  the  redoubted  robber 
Sheikh  about  whom  we  had  been  laughing  and  crying 
"Wolf!"  all  day.  Never  was  seen  such  a  skurry! 
"March!"  was  the  instant  order  given.  When  Vic- 
toire  heard  who  it  was  and  the  message,  you  should  have 
seen  how  she  changed  countenance;  trembling  for  her 
virtue  in  the  ferocious  clutches  of  a  Gosh.  "  Un  verre 
d'eau  pour  I'amour  de  Dieu!"  gasped  she,  and  was 
ready  to  faint  on  her  saddle.  "  Ne  buvez  plus,  Vic- 
toire!  "  screamed  a  little  fellow  of  our  party.  "  Push  on, 
push  on!"  cried  one  and  all.  "What's  the  matter?" 
exclaimed  the  ladies  in  the  litter,  as  they  saw  themselves 
suddenly  jogging  on  again.  But  we  took  care  not  to 
tell  them  what  had  been  the  designs  of  the  redoubtable 
Abou  Gosh.  Away  then  we  went — Victoire  was  saved 
— and  her  mistresses  rescued  from  dangers  they  knew 
not  of,  until  they  were  a  long  way  out  of  the  vil- 
lage. 

Did  he  intend  insult  or  good  will?  Did  Victoire  es- 
cape the  odious  chance  of  becoming  ]\Iadame  Abou 
Gosh?  Or  did  the  mountain  chief  simply  propose  to 
be  hospitable  after  his  fashion?  I  think  the  latter  was 
his  desire ;  if  the  former  had  been  his  wish,  a  half-dozen 
of  his  long  guns  could  have  been  up  with  us  in  a  min- 
ute, and  had  all  our  party  at  their  mercy.  But  now, 
for  the  sake  of  the  mere  excitement,  the  incident  was, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  rather  a  pleasant  one  than  otherwise : 
especially  for  a  traveller  who  is  in  the  happy  condition 
of  being  able  to  sing  before  robbers,  as  is  the  case  with 
the  writer  of  the  present. 

A  little  way  out  of  the  land  of  Goshen  we  came  upon 
a  long  stretch  of  gardens  and  vineyards,  slanting  to- 
wards the  setting  sun,  which  illuminated  numberless 


414  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

golden  clusters  of  the  most  delicious  grapes,  of  which 
we  stopped  and  partook.  Such  grapes  were  never  be- 
fore tasted;  water  so  fresh  as  that  which  a  countryman 
fetched  for  us  from  a  well  never  sluiced  parched  throats 
before.  It  was  the  ride,  the  sun,  and  above  all  Abou 
Gosh,  who  made  that  refreshment  so  sweet,  and  hereby 
I  offer  him  my  best  thanks.  Presently,  in  the  midst 
of  a  most  diabolical  ravine,  down  which  our  horses  went 
sliding,  we  heard  the  evening  gun;  it  was  fired  from 
Jerusalem.  The  twilight  is  brief  in  this  country,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  landscape  was  grey  round  about  us, 
and  the  sky  lighted  up  by  a  hundred  thousand  stars, 
which  made  the  night  beautiful. 

Under  this  superb  canopy  we  rode  for  a  couple  of 
hours  to  our  journej^'s  end.  The  mountains  round  about 
us  dark,  lonely,  and  sad;  the  landscape  as  we  saw  it 
at  night  (it  is  not  more  cheerful  in  the  daytime),  the 
most  solemn  and  forlorn  I  have  ever  seen.  The  feelings 
of  almost  terror  with  which,  riding  through  the  night, 
we  approached  this  awful  place,  the  centre  of  the  world's 
past  and  future  history,  have  no  need  to  be  noted  down 
here.  The  recollection  of  those  sensations  must  remain 
with  a  man  as  long  as  his  memory  lasts;  and  he  should 
think  of  them  as  often,  perhaps,  as  he  should  talk  of 
them  little. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JERUSALEM 

THE  ladies  of  our  party  found  excellent  quarters 
in  readiness  for  them  at  the  Greek  convent  in  the 
city;  where  airy  rooms,  and  plentiful  meals,  and  wines 
and  sweetmeats  delicate  and  abundant,  w^re  provided 
to  cheer  them  after  the  fatigues  of  their  journey.  I 
don't  know  whether  the  worthy  fathers  of  the  convent 
share  in  the  good  things  which  they  lavish  on  their 
guests;  but  they  look  as  if  they  do.  Those  whom  we 
saw  bore  every  sign  of  easy  conscience  and  good  living; 
there  were  a  pair  of  strong,  rosy,  greasy,  lazy  lay-bro- 
thers, dawdling  in  the  sun  on  the  convent  terrace,  or 
peering  over  the  parapet  into  the  street  below,  whose 
looks  gave  one  a  notion  of  anything  but  asceticism. 

In  the  principal  room  of  the  strangers'  house  ( the  lay 
traveller  is  not  admitted  to  dwell  in  the  sacred  interior 
of  the  convent),  and  over  the  building,  the  Russian 
double-headed  eagle  is  displayed.  The  place  is  under 
the  patronage  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas:  an  Imperial 
Prince  has  stayed  in  these  rooms:  the  Russian  consul 
performs  a  great  part  in  the  city;  and  a  considerable 
annual  stipend  is  given  by  the  Emperor  towards  the 
maintenance  of  the  great  establishment  in  Jerusalem. 
The  Great  Chapel  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre is  by  far  the  richest,  in  point  of  furniture,  of  all  the 
places  of  worship  under  that  roof.  We  were  in  Russia, 
when  we  came  to  visit  our  friends  here;  under  the  pro- 

415 


416  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

tection  of  the  Father  of  the  Church  and  the  Imperial 
Eagle !  This  butcher  and  tyrant,  who  sits  on  his  throne 
only  through  the  crime  of  those  who  held  it  before  him 
— every  step  in  whose  pedigree  is  stained  by  some  hor- 
rible mark  of  murder,  parricide,  adultery— this  padded 
and  whiskered  pontiff — who  rules  in  his  jack-boots  over 
a  system  of  sjDies  and  soldiers,  of  deceit,  ignorance,  dis- 
soluteness, and  brute  force,  such  as  surely  the  history  of 
the  world  never  told  of  before — has  a  tender  interest 
in  the  welfare  of  his  spiritual  children:  in  the  Eastern 
Church  ranks  after  divinity,  and  is  worshipped  by  mil- 
lions of  men.  A  pious  exemplar  of  Christianity  truly! 
and  of  the  condition  to  which  its  union  with  politics  has 
brought  it!  Think  of  the  rank  to  which  he  pretends, 
and  gravely  believes  that  he  possesses,  no  doubt!— think 
of  those  who  assumed  the  same  ultra-sacred  character 
before  him!— and  then  of  the  Bible  and  the  Founder  of 
the  Religion,  of  which  the  Emperor  assumes  to  be  the 
chief  priest  and  defender. 

We  had  some  Poles  of  our  party;  but  these  poor  fel- 
lows went  to  the  Latin  convent,  declining  to  worship 
after  the  Emperor's  fashion.  The  next  night  after  our 
arrival,  two  of  them  passed  in  the  Sepulchre.  There  we 
saw  them,  more  than  once  on  subsequent  visits,  kneeling 
in  the  Latin  Church  before  the  pictures,  or  marching 
solemnly  with  candles  in  processions,  or  lying  flat  on 
the  stones,  or  passionately  kissing  the  spots  which  their 
traditions  have  consecrated  as  the  authentic  places  of  the 
Saviour's  sufferings.  More  honest  or  more  civilized, 
or  from  opposition,  the  Latin  fathers  have  long  given 
up  and  disowned  the  disgusting  mummery  of  the  East- 
ern Fire — which  lie  the  Greeks  continue  annually  to  tell. 

Their  travellers'  house  and  convent,  though  large  and 


THE  MAIN  STREET  417 

commodious,  are  of  a  much  poorer  and  shabbier  condi- 
tion than  those  of  the  Greeks.  Both  make  beheve  not 
to  take  money;  but  the  traveller  is  expected  to  pay  in 
each.  The  Latin  fathers  enlarge  their  means  by  a  little 
harmless  trade  in  beads  and  crosses,  and  mother-of-pearl 
shells,  on  which  figures  of  saints  are  engraved;  and 
which  they  purchase  from  the  manufacturers,  and  vend 
at  a  small  profit.  The  English,  until  of  late,  used  to 
be  quartered  in  these  sham  inns;  but  last  year  two  or 
three  Maltese  took  houses  for  the  reception  of  tourists, 
who  can  now  be  accommodated  with  cleanly  and  com- 
fortable board,  at  a  rate  not  too  heavy  for  most  pockets. 
To  one  of  these  we  went  very  gladly;  giving  our 
horses  the  bridle  at  the  door,  which  went  off  of  their 
own  will  to  their  stables,  through  the  dark  inextricable 
labyrinths  of  streets,  archways,  and  alleys,  which  we  had 
threaded  after  leaving  the  main  street  from  the  Jaffa 
Gate.  There,  there  was  still  some  life.  Numbers  of 
persons  were  collected  at  their  doors,  or  smoking  before 
the  dingy  coffee-houses,  where  singing  and  story-telling 
were  going  on;  but  out  of  this  great  street  everything 
was  silent,  and  no  sign  of  a  light  from  the  windows  of 
the  low  houses  which  we  passed. 

We  ascended  from  a  lower  floor  up  to  a  terrace,  on 
which  were  several  little  domed  chambers,  or  pavilions. 
From  this  terrace,  whence  we  looked  in  the  morning, 
a  great  part  of  the  city  spread  before  us: — white  domes 
upon  domes,  and  terraces  of  the  same  character  as  our 
own.  Here  and  there,  from  among  these  whitewashed 
mounds  round  about,  a  minaret  rose,  or  a  rare  date-tree ; 
but  the  chief  part  of  the  vegetation  near  was  that  odious 
tree  the  prickly  pear, — one  huge  green  wart  growing 


418  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

out  of  another,  armed  with  spikes,  as  inhospitable  as 
the  aloe,  without  shelter  or  beauty.  To  the  right  the 
Mosque  of  Omar  rose ;  the  rising  sun  behind  it.  Yonder 
steep  tortuous  lane  before  us,  flanked  'by  ruined  walls 
on  either  side,  has  borne,  time  out  of  mind,  the  title  of 
Via  Dolorosa;  and  tradition  has  fixed  the  spots  w^here 
the  Saviour  rested,  bearing  his  cross  to  Calvary.  But 
of  the  mountain,  rising  immediately  in  front  of  us,  a 
few  grey  olive-trees  speckling  the  yellow  side  here  and 
there,  there  can  be  no  question.  That  is  the  jNIount  of 
Olives.  Bethany  lies  beyond  it.  The  most  sacred  eyes 
that  ever  looked  on  this  world  have  gazed  on  those 
ridges:  it  w^as  there  He  used  to  w^alk  and  teach.  With 
shame  and  humility  one  looks  towards  the  spot  where 
that  inexpressible  Love  and  Benevolence  lived  and 
breathed ;  where  the  great  yearning  heart  of  the  Saviour 
interceded  for  all  our  race;  and  whence  the  bigots  and 
traitors  of  his  day  led  him  awaj^  to  kill  him ! 

That  company  of  Jews  whom  we  had  brought  wdth  us 
from  Constantinople,  and  who  had  cursed  every  delay 
on  the  route,  not  from  impatience  to  view  the  Holy 
City,  but  from  rage  at  being  obliged  to  purchase  dear 
provisions  for  their  maintenance  on  shipboard,  made 
what  bargains  they  best  could  at  Jaffa,  and  journeyed 
to  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat  at  the  cheapest  rate.  We 
saw  the  tall  form  of  the  old  Polish  Patriarch,  venerable 
in  filth,  stalking  among  the  stinking  ruins  of  the  Jewish 
quarter.  The  sly  old  Rabbi,  in  the  greasy  folding  hat, 
who  would  not  pay  to  shelter  his  children  from  the 
storm  off  Beyrout,  greeted  us  in  the  bazaars;  the 
younger  Rabbis  were  furbished  up  with  some  smart- 
ness.    We  met  them  on  Sunday  at  the  kind  of  prom- 


JEWISH   PILGRIMS  419 

enade  by  the  walls  of  the  Bethlehem  Gate;  they  were 
in  company  of  some  red-bearded  co-religionists,  smartly 
attired  in  Eastern  raiment;  but  their  voice  was  the  voice 
of  the  Jews  of  Berlin,  and  of  course  as  we  passed  they 
were  talking  about  so  many  hundert  thaler.  You  may 
track  one  of  the  people,  and  be  sure  to  hear  mention 
of  that  silver  calf  that  they  worship. 

The  English  mission  has  been  very  unsuccessful  with 
these  religionists.  I  don't  believe  the  Episcopal  ap- 
paratus— the  chaplains,  and  the  colleges,  and  the  bea- 
dles— have  succeeded  in  converting  a  dozen  of  them; 
and  a  sort  of  mart3a'dom  is  in  store  for  the  luckless 
Hebrews  at  Jerusalem  Avho  shall  secede  from  their  faith. 
Their  old  communitj^  spurn  them  with  horror;  and  I 
heard  of  the  case  of  one  unfortunate  man,  whose  wife, 
in  spite  of  her  husband's  change  of  creed,  being  resolved, 
like  a  true  woman,  to  cleave  to  him,  was  spirited  away 
from  him  in  his  absence ;  was  kept  in  privacy  in  the  city, 
in  spite  of  all  exertions  of  the  mission,  of  the  consul 
and  the  bishop,  and  the  chaplains  and  the  beadles;  was 
passed  away  from  Jerusalem  to  Beyrout,  and  thence 
to  Constantinople;  and  from  Constantinople  was 
whisked  off  into  the  Russian  territories,  where  she  still 
pines  after  her  husband.  May  that  unhap]3y  convert 
find  consolation  away  from  her.  I  could  not  hel]D  think- 
ing, as  my  informant,  an  excellent  and  accomplished 
gentleman  of  the  mission,  told  me  the  story,  that  the 
Jews  had  done  onty  what  the  Christians  do  under  the 
same  circumstances.  The  woman  was  the  daughter  of 
a  most  learned  Rabbi,  as  I  gathered.  Suppose  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  Rabbi  of  Exeter,  or  Canterbury,  were  to 
marrj^  a  man  who  turned  Jew,  would  not  her  Right 
Reverend  Father  be  justified  in  taking  her  out  of  the 


420  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

power  of  a  person  likely  to  hurl  her  soul  to  perdition? 
These  poor  converts  should  surely  be  sent  away  to  Eng- 
land out  of  the  way  of  persecution.  We  could  not  but 
feel  a  pity  for  them,  as  they  sat  there  on  their  benches  in 
the  church  conspicuous;  and  thought  of  the  scorn  and 
contumely  which  attended  them  without,  as  they  passed, 
in  their  European  dresses  and  shaven  beards,  among 
their  grisly,  scowling,  long-robed  countrymen. 

As  elsewhere  in  the  towns  I  have  seen,  the  Ghetto 
of  Jerusalem  is  pre-eminent  in  filth.  The  people  are 
gathered  round  about  the  dung-gate  of  the  city.  Of 
a  Friday  you  may  hear  their  wailings  and  lamentations 
for  the  lost  glories  of  their  city.  I  think  the  Valley 
of  Jehoshaphat  is  the  most  ghastly  sight  I  have  seen 
in  the  world.  From  all  quarters  they  come  hither  to 
bury  their  dead.  When  his  time  is  come  j'-onder  hoary 
old  miser,  with  whom  we  made  our  voj^age,  will  lay  his 
carcase  to  rest  here.  To  do  that,  and  to  claw  together 
money,  has  been  the  purpose  of  that  strange,  long  life. 

We  brought  with  us  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 

mission,  a  Hebrew  convert,  the  Rev.  Mr.  E ;  and 

lest  I  should  be  supposed  to  speak  with  disrespect  above 
of  any  of  the  converts  of  the  Hebrew  faith,  let  me 
mention  this  gentleman  as  the  only  one  whom  I  had  the 
fortune  to  meet  on  terms  of  intimac3\  I  never  saw  a 
man  whose  outward  conduct  was  more  touching,  whose 
sincerity  was  more  evident,  and  whose  religious  feeling 
seemed  more  deep,  real,  and  reasonable. 

Only  a  few  feet  off,  the  walls  of  the  Anglican  Church 
of  Jerusalem  rise  up  from  their  foundations,  on  a  pic- 
turesque open  spot,  in  front  of  the  Bethlehem  Gate. 
The  English  Bishop  has  his  church  hard  by:  and  near 


ENGLISH  SERVICE  IN  JERUSxVLEM  421 

it  is  the  house  where  the  Christians  of  our  denomina- 
tion assemble  and  worship. 

There  seem  to  be  polyglot  services  here.  I  saw  books 
of  prayer,  or  Scripture,  in  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Ger- 
man: in  which  latter  language  Dr.  Alexander  preaches 
every  Sunday.  A  gentleman  who  sat  near  me  at  church 
used  all  these  books  indifferently;  reading  the  first  les- 
son from  the  Hebrew  book,  and  the  second  from  the 
Greek.  Here  we  all  assembled  on  the  Sunday  after 
our  arrival:  it  was  affecting  to  hear  the  music  and  lan- 
guage of  our  country  sounding  in  this  distant  place; 
to  have  the  decent  and  manly  ceremonial  of  our  service ; 
the  prayers  delivered  in  that  noble  language.  Even 
that  stout  anti-prelatist,  the  American  consul,  who  has 
left  his  house  and  fortune  in  America  in  order  to  witness 
the  coming  of  the  Millennium,  who  believes  it  to  be  so 
near  that  he  has  brought  a  dove  with  him  from  his 
native  land  (which  bird  he  solemnly  informed  us  was  to 
survive  the  expected  Advent) ,  was  affected  by  the  good 
old  words  and  service.  He  swayed  about  and  moaned 
in  his  place  at  various  passages;  during  the  sermon  he 
gave  especial  marks  of  sympathy  and  approbation.  I 
never  heard  the  service  more  excellently  and  impres- 
sively read  than  by  the  Bishop's  chaplain,  Mr.  Veitch. 
But  it  was  the  music  that  was  most  touching,  I  thought, 
—the  sweet  old  songs  of  home. 

There  was  a  considerable  company  assembled:  near 
a  hundred  people,  I  should  think.  Our  party  made  a 
large  addition  to  the  usual  congregation.  The  Bishop's 
family  is  proverbially  numerous:  the  consul,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  mission,  have  wives,  and  children,  and 
English  establishments.  These,  and  the  strangers,  oc- 
cupied places  down  the  room,  to  the  right  and  left  of 


422  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  desk  and  communion-table.  The  converts,  and  the 
members  of  the  college,  in  rather  a  scanty  number,  faced 
the  officiating  clergyman ;  before  whom  the  silver  maces 
of  the  janissaries  were  set  up,  as  they  set  up  the  bea- 
dles' maces  in  England. 

I  made  many  walks  round  the  cit}^  to  Olivet  and 
Bethany,  to  the  tombs  of  the  kings,  and  the  fountains 
sacred  in  story.  These  are  green  and  fresh,  but  all 
the  rest  of  the  landscajDC  seemed  to  me  to  be  frightful. 
Parched  mountains,  with  a  grey  bleak  olive-tree  trem- 
bling here  and  there;  savage  ravines  and  valleys,  paved 
with  tombstones — a  landscape  unspeakably  ghastly  and 
desolate,  meet  the  e^^e  wherever  you  wander  round  about 
the  city.  The  place  seems  quite  adapted  to  the  events 
which  are  recorded  in  the  Hebrew  histories.  It  and 
they,  as  it  seems  to  me,  can  never  be  regarded  without 
terror.  Fear  and  blood,  crime  and  punishment,  fol- 
low from  page  to  page  in  frightful  succession.  There 
is  not  a  spot  at  which  j^ou  look,  but  some  violent  deed  has 
been  done  there:  some  massacre  has  been  committed, 
some  victim  has  been  murdered,  some  idol  has  been 
worshipped  with  bloody  and  dreadful  rites.  Not  far 
from  hence  is  the  place  where  the  Jewish  conqueror 
fought  for  the  possession  of  Jerusalem.  "  The  sun 
stood  still,  and  hasted  not  to  go  down  about  a  whole 
day;  "  so  that  the  Jews  might  have  daylight  to  destroy 
the  Amorites,  whose  iniquities  were  full,  and  whose  land 
they  were  about  to  occupy.  The  fugitive  heathen  king, 
and  his  allies,  were  discovered  in  their  hiding-place,  and 
hanged:  "and  the  children  of  Judah  smote  Jerusalem 
with  the  edge  of  the  sword,  and  set  the  city  on  fire;  and 
they  left  none  remaining,  but  utterly  destroyed  all  that 
breathed." 


A  GLOOMY  LANDSCAPE  423 

I  went  out  at  the  Zion  Gate,  and  looked  at  the  so- 
called  tomb  of  David.  I  had  been  reading  all  the 
morning  in  the  Psalms,  and  his  history  in  Samuel  and 
Kings.  "Bring  thou  down  Shim  as  hoar  head  to  the 
grave  with  blood/'  are  the  last  words  of  the  dying  mon- 
arch as  recorded  by  the  history.  What  they  call  the  tomb 
is  now  a  crumbling  old  mosque;  from  which  Jew  and 
Christian  are  excluded  alike.  As  I  saw  it,  blazing  in 
the  sunshine,  with  the  purple  sky  behind  it,  the  glare 
only  served  to  mark  the  surrounding  desolation  more 
clearly.  The  lonel}^  walls  and  towers  of  the  city  rose 
hard  by.  Dreary  mountains,  and  declivities  of  naked 
stones,  were  round  about :  they  are  burrowed  with  holes 
in  which  Christian  hermits  lived  and  died.  You  see  one 
green  place  far  down  in  the  valley :  it  is  called  En  Rogel. 
Adonijah  feasted  there,  who  was  killed  by  his  brother 
Solomon,  for  asking  for  Abishag  for  wife.  The  Val- 
ley of  Hinnom  skirts  the  hill:  the  dismal  ravine  was  a 
fruitful  garden  once.  Ahaz,  and  the  idolatrous  kings, 
sacrificed  to  idols  under  the  green  trees  there,  and 
"  caused  their  children  to  pass  through  the  fire."  On 
the  mountain  opposite,  Solomon,  with  the  thousand 
women  of  his  harem,  worshipped  the  gods  of  all  their 
nations,  "  Ashtoreth,"  and  "  Milcom,  and  Molech,  the 
abomination  of  the  Ammonites."  An  enormous  char- 
nel-house stands  on  the  hill  where  the  bodies  of  dead 
pilgrims  used  to  be  thrown;  and  common  belief  has 
fixed  upon  this  spot  as  the  Aceldama,  which  Judas  pur- 
chased with  the  price  of  his  treason.  Thus  j^ou  go  on 
from  one  gloomy  place  to  another,  each  seared  with 
its  bloody  tradition.  Yonder  is  the  Temple,  and  you 
think  of  Titus's  soldiery  storming  its  flaming  porches, 
and  entering  the  city,  in  the  savage  defence  of  which 


424  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

two  million  human  souls  perished.  It  was  on  Mount 
Zion  that  Godfrey  and  Tancred  had  their  camp:  when 
the  Crusaders  entered  the  mosque,  they  rode  knee-deep 
in  the  blood  of  its  defenders,  and  of  the  women  and 
children  who  had  fled  thither  for  refuge:  it  was  the 
victory  of  Joshua  over  again.  Then,  after  three  days 
of  butchery,  they  purified  the  desecrated  mosque  and 
went  to  praj^er.  In  the  centre  of  this  history  of  crime 
rises  up  the  Great  Murder  of  all.  .  .  . 

I  need  say  no  more  about  this  gloomy  landscape. 
After  a  man  has  seen  it  once,  he  never  forgets  it — the 
recollection  of  it  seems  to  me  to  follow  him  like  a  re- 
morse, as  it  were  to  implicate  him  in  the  awful  deed 
which  was  done  there.  Oh!  with  what  unspeakable 
shame  and  terror  should  one  think  of  that  crime,  and 
prostrate  himself  before  the  image  of  that  Divine 
Blessed  Sufl'erer! 

Of  course  the  first  visit  of  the  traveller  is  to  the 
famous  Church  of  the  Sepulchre. 

In  the  archway,  leading  from  the  street  to  the  court 
and  church,  there  is  a  little  bazaar  of  Bethlehemites,  who 
must  interfere  considerably  with  the  commerce  of  the 
Latin  fathers.  These  men  bawl  to  you  from  their  stalls, 
and  hold  up  for  your  purchase  their  devotional  baubles, 
— bushels  of  rosaries  and  scented  beads,  and  carved 
mother-of-pearl  shells,  and  rude  stone  salt-cellars  and 
figures.  Now  that  inns  are  established, — envoys  of 
these  pedlars  attend  them  on  the  arrival  of  strangers, 
squat  all  day  on  the  terraces  before  your  door,  and  pa- 
tiently entreat  you  to  buy  of  their  goods.  Some  worthies 
there  are  who  drive  a  good  trade  by  tattooing  pilgrims 
with  the  five  crosses,  the   arms   of  Jerusalem;   under 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE  425 

which  the  name  of  the  city  is  punctured  in  Hebrew,  with 
the  auspicious  year  of  the  Hadji's  visit.  Several  of  our 
fellow-travellers  submitted  to  this  queer  operation,  and 
will  carry  to  their  grave  this  relic  of  their  journey. 
Some  of  them  had  engaged  a  servant,  a  man  at  Beyrout, 
who  had  served  as  a  lad  on  board  an  Enghsh  ship  in 
the  Mediterranean.  Above  his  tattooage  of  the  five 
crosses,  the  fellow  had  a  picture  of  two  hearts  united, 
and  the  pathetic  motto,  "  Betsy  my  dear."  He  had 
parted  with  Betsy  my  dear  five  years  before  at  Malta. 
He  had  known  a  little  English  there,  but  had  forgotten 
it.  Betsy  my  dear  was  forgotten  too.  Only  her  name 
remained  engraved  with  a  vain  simulacrum  of  con- 
stancy on  the  faithless  rogue's  skin:  on  w^hich  was  now 
printed  another  token  of  equally  effectual  devotion. 
The  beads  and  the  tattooing,  however,  seem  essential 
ceremonies  attendant  on  the  Christian  pilgrim's  visit; 
for  many  hundreds  of  years,  doubtless,  the  palmers 
have  carried  off  with  them  these  simple  reminiscences 
of  the  sacred  city.  That  symbol  has  been  engraven 
upon  the  arms  of  how  many  Princes,  Knights,  and  Cru- 
saders! Don't  you  see  a  moral  as  applicable  to  them  as 
to  the  swindling  Beyrout  horseboy?  I  have  brought  you 
back  that  cheap  and  wholesome  apologue,  in  lieu  of  any 
of  the  Bethlehemite  shells  and  beads. 

After  passing  through  the  porch  of  the  pedlars,  you 
come  to  the  courtyard  in  front  of  the  noble  old  towers 
of  the  Church  of  the  Sepulchre,  with  pointed  arches  and 
Gothic  traceries,  rude,  but  rich  and  picturesque  in  de- 
sign. Here  crowds  are  waiting  in  the  sun,  until  it  shall 
please  the  Turkish  guardians  of  the  church-door  to 
open.  A  swarm  of  beggars  sit  here  permanently:  old 
tattered  hags  with  long  veils,  ragged  children,  blind  old 


426  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

bearded  beggars,  wbo  raise  up  a  chorus  of  prayers  for 
money,  holding  out  their  wooden  bowls,  or  clattering 
with  their  sticks  on  the  stones,  or  pulling  your  coat- 
skirts  and  moaning  and  whining;  yonder  sit  a  group 
of  coal-black  Coptish  pilgrims,  with  robes  and  turbans 
of  dark  blue,  fumbling  their  perpetual  beads.  A  party 
of  Arab  Christians  have  come  up  from  their  tents  or 
villages:  the  men  half  naked,  looking  as  if  they  were 
beggars,  or  banditti,  upon  occasion;  the  women  have 
flung  their  head-cloths  back,  and  are  looking  at  the 


strangers  under  their  tattooed  ej^ebrows.  As  for  the 
strangers,  there  is  no  need  to  describe  tliein;  that  figure 
of  the  Englishman,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  has 
been  seen  all  the  world  over:  staring  down  the  crater 
of  Vesuvius,  or  into  a  Hottentot  kraal — or  at  a  pyra- 
mid, or  a  Parisian  coif  ee-house,  or  an  Esquimaux  hut 
— with  the  same  insolent  calmness  of  demeanour.  When 
the  gates  of  the  church  are  open,  he  elbows  in  among  the 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE    427 

first,  and  flings  a  few  scornful  piastres  to  the  Turkish 
door-keeper;  and  gazes  round  easil^^  at  the  place,  in  which 
people  of  every  other  nation  in  the  world  are  in  tears,  or 
in  rapture,  or  wonder.  He  has  never  seen  the  place 
until  now,  and  looks  as  indifferent  as  the  Turkish  guar- 
dian who  sits  in  the  doorway,  and  swears  at  the  people 
as  they  pour  in. 

Indeed,  I  believe  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  compre- 
hend the  source  and  nature  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
devotion.  I  once  went  into  a  church  at  Rome  at  the 
request  of  a  Catholic  friend,  who  described  the  interior 
to  be  so  beautiful  and  glorious,  that  he  thought  (he 
said)  it  must  be  like  heaven  itself.  I  found  walls  hung 
with  cheap  stripes  of  pink  and  white  calico,  altars  cov- 
ered with  artificial  flowers,  a  number  of  wax-candles, 
and  plenty  of  gilt  paper  ornaments.  The  place  seemed 
to  me  like  a  shabbj^  theatre ;  and  here  was  my  friend  on 
his  knees  at  my  side,  plunged  in  a  rapture  of  wonder 
and  devotion. 

I  could  get  no  better  impression  out  of  this  the  most 
famous  church  in  the  world.  The  deceits  are  too  open 
and  flagrant;  the  inconsistencies  and  contrivances  too 
monstrous.  It  is  hard  even  to  sympathize  with  persons 
who  receive  them  as  genuine;  and  though  (as  I  know 
and  saw  in  the  case  of  my  friend  at  Rome)  the  believer's 
life  may  be  passed  in  the  purest  exercise  of  faith  and 
charity,  it  is  difficult  even  to  give  him  credit  for  hon- 
esty, so  barefaced  seem  the  impostures  which  he  pro- 
fesses to  believe  and  reverence.  It  costs  one  no  small 
effort  even  to  admit  the  possibility  of  a  Catholic's  cre- 
dulity: to  share  in  his  rapture  and  devotion  is  still  fur- 
ther out  of  your  power;  and  I  could  get  from  this 
church  no  other  emotions  but  those  of  shame  and  pain. 


428  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  legends  with  which  the  Greeks  and  Latins  have 
garnished  the  spot  have  no  more  sacredness  for  you 
than  the  hideous,  unreal,  barbaric  pictures  and  orna- 
ments which  they  have  lavished  on  it.  Look  at  the  fer- 
vour with  which  pilgrims  kiss  and  weep  over  a  tawdry 
Gothic  painting,  scarcely  better  fashioned  than  an  idol 
in  a  South  Sea  Moral.  The  histories  which  they  are 
called  upon  to  reverence  are  of  the  same  period  and 
order, — savage  Gothic  caricatures.  In  either  a  saint 
appears  in  the  costume  of  the  middle  ages,  and  is  made 
to  accommodate  himself  to  the  fashion  of  the  tenth 
century. 

The  different  churches  battle  for  the  possession  of 
the  various  relics.  The  Greeks  show  j^ou  the  Tomb  of 
Melchisedec,  while  the  Armenians  possess  the  Chapel 
of  the  Penitent  Thief;  the  poor  Copts  (with  their  lit- 
tle cabin  of  a  chapel)  can  yet  boast  of  possessing  the 
thicket  in  which  Abraham  caught  the  Ram,  which  was 
to  serve  as  the  vicar  of  Isaac;  the  Latins  point  out  the 
Pillar  to  which  the  Lord  was  bound.  The  place  of  the 
Invention  of  the  Sacred  Cross,  the  Fissure  in  the  Rock 
of  Golgotha,  the  Tomb  of  Adam  himself — are  all  here 
within  a  few  yards'  space.  You  mount  a  few  steps,  and 
are  told  it  is  Calvary  upon  which  you  stand.  All  this 
in  the  midst  of  flaring  candles,  reeking  incense,  savage 
pictures  of  Scripture  story,  or  portraits  of  kings  who 
have  been  benefactors  to  the  various  chapels;  a  din  and 
clatter  of  strange  people, — these  weeping,  bowing,  kiss- 
ing,—those  utterly  indifferent;  and  the  priests  clad  in 
outlandish  robes,  snuffling  and  chanting  incomprehen- 
sible litanies,  robing,  disrobing,  lighting  up  candles  or 
extinguishing  them,  advancing,  retreating,  bowing  with 
all  sorts  of  unfamiliar  genuflexions.    Had  if  pleased  the 


\ 


SECTARIAN   JEALOUSIES  429 

inventors  of  the  Sepulchre  topography  to  have  fixed 
on  fifty  more  spots  of  ground  as  the  places  of  the  events 
of  the  sacred  story,  the  pilgrim  woiild  have  believed 
just  as  now.  The  priest's  authority  has  so  mastered  his 
faith,  that  it  accommodates  itself  to  any  demand  upon 
it;  and  the  English  stranger  looks  on  the  scene,  for  the 
first  time,  with  a  feeling  of  scorn,  bewilderment,  and 
shame  at  that  grovelling  credulity,  those  strange  rites 
and  ceremonies,  that  almost  confessed  imposture. 

Jarred  and  distracted  by  these,  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  for  some  time,  seems  to  an  English- 
man the  least  sacred  spot  about  Jerusalem.  It  is  the 
lies,  and  the  legends,  and  the  priests,  and  their  quarrels, 
and  their  ceremonies,  which  keep  the  Holy  Place  out 
of  sight.  A  man  has  not  leisure  to  view  it,  for  the 
brawling  of  the  guardians  of  the  spot.  The  Roman 
conquerors,  they  say,  raised  up  a  statue  of  Venus  in 
this  sacred  place,  intending  to  destroy  all  memory  of  it. 
I  don't  think  the  heathen  was  as  criminal  as  the  Chris- 
tian is  now.  To  deny  and  disbelieve,  is  not  so  bad  as 
to  make  belief  a  ground  to  cheat  upon.  The  liar  An- 
anias perished  for  that;  and  yet  out  of  these  gates, 
where  angels  may  have  kept  watch — out  of  the  tomb 
of  Christ — Christian  priests  issue  with  a  lie  in  their 
hands.  What  a  place  to  choose  for  imposture,  good 
God !  to  sully,  with  brutal  struggles  for  self -aggrandise- 
ment, or  shameful  schemes  of  gain! 

The  situation  of  the  Tomb  (into  which,  be  it  authen- 
tic or  not,  no  man  can  enter  without  a  shock  of  breath- 
less fear,  and  deep  and  awful  self-humiliation,)  must 
have  struck  all  travellers.  It  stands  in  the  centre  of  the 
arched  rotunda,  which  is  common  to  all  denominations, 
and  from  which  branch  off  the  various  chapels  belong- 


430  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

ing  to  each  particular  sect.  In  the  Coptic  Chapel  I  saw 
one  coal-black  Copt,  in  blue  robes,  cowering  in  the  lit- 
tle cabin,  surrounded  by  dingy  lamps,  barbarous  pic- 
tures, and  cheap,  faded  trumper5\  In  the  Latin  Church 
there  was  no  service  going  on,  only  two  fathers  dusting 
the  mouldy  gewgaws  along  the  brown  walls,  and  laugh- 
ing to  one  another.  The  gorgeous  church  of  the  Fire 
impostors,  hard  by,  was  always  more  fully  attended; 
as  was  that  of  their  wealthy  neighbours,  the  Armenians. 
These  three  main  sects  hate  each  other;  their  quarrels 
are  interminable;  each  bribes  and  intrigues  with  the 
heathen  lords  of  the  soil,  to  the  prejudice  of  his  neigh- 
bour. Now  it  is  the  Latins  who  interfere,  and  allow 
the  common  church  to  go  to  ruin,  because  the  Greeks 
purpose  to  roof  it;  now  the  Greeks  demolish  a  monas- 
tery on  Mount  Olivet,  and  leave  the  ground  to  the 
Turks,  rather  than  allow  the  Armenians  to  possess  it. 
On  another  occasion,  the  Greeks  having  mended  the 
Armenian  steps,  which  lead  to  the  (so-called)  Cave  of  the 
Nativity  at  Bethlehem,  the  latter  asked  for  permission 
to  destroy  the  work  of  the  Greeks,  and  did  so.  And  so 
round  this  sacred  spot,  the  centre  of  Christendom,  the 
representatives  of  the  three  great  sects  worship  under 
one  roof,  and  hate  each  other! 

Above  the  Tomb  of  the  Saviour,  the  cupola  is  open, 
and  you  see  the  blue  sky  overhead.  Wliich  of  the  build- 
ers was  it  that  Iiad  the  grace  to  leave  that  under  the 
high  protection  of  heaven,  and  not  confine  it  under  the 
mouldering  old  domes  and  roofs,  which  cover  so  much 
selfishness,  and  uncharitableness,  and  imposture! 

We  went  to  Bethlehem,  too;  and  saw  the  apocryphal 
wonders  there. 


CHURCH   OF   THE   NATIVITY        431 

Five  miles'  ride  brings  you  from  Jerusalem  to  it,  over 
naked  wavy  hills;  the  aspect  of  which,  however,  grows 
more  cheerful  as  you  approach  the  fariious  village.  We 
passed  the  Convent  of  JNIar  Eh^as  on  the  road,  walled 
and  barred  like  a  fort.  In  spite  of  its  strength,  however, 
it  has  more  than  once  been  stormed  b}^  the  Arabs,  and 
the  luckless  fathers  within  put  to  death.  Hard  by  was 
Rebecca's  Well:  a  dead  body  was  tying  there,  and 
crowds  of  male  and  female  mourners  dancing  and  howl- 
ing round  it.  Now  and  then  a  little  troop  of  savage 
scowling  horsemen— a  shepherd  driving  his  black  sheep, 
his  gun  over  his  shoulder — a  troop  of  camels — or  of 
women,  with  long  blue  robes  and  white  veils  bearing 
pitchers,  and  staring  at  the  strangers  with  their  great 
solemn  eyes— or  a  company  of  labourers,  with  their  don- 
keys, bearing  grain  or  grapes  to  the  city,— met  us  and 
enlivened  the  little  ride.  It  was  a  busy  and  cheerful 
scene.  The  Church  of  the  Nativity,  with  the  adjoining 
Convents,  forms  a  vast  and  noble  Christian  structure. 
A  party  of  travellers  were  going  to  the  Jordan  that  day, 
and  scores  of  their  followers— of  the  robbing  Arabs, 
who  profess  to  protect  them,  (magnificent  figures  some 
of  them,  with  flowing  haicks  and  turbans,  with  long 
guns  and  scimitars,  and  wretched  horses,  covered  with 
gaudy  trappings,)  were  standing  on  the  broad  pave- 
ment before  the  little  Convent  gate.  It  was  such  a  scene 
as  Cattermole  might  paint.  Knights  and  Crusaders 
may  have  witnessed  a  similar  one.  You  could  fancy 
them  issuing  out  of  the  narrow  little  portal,  and  so 
greeted  by  the  swarms  of  swarthy  clamorous  women 
and  merchants  and  children. 

The  scene  within  the  building  was  of  the  same  Gothic 
character.    We  were  entertained  by  the  Superior  of  the 


432  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Greek  Convent,  in  a  fine  refectory,  with  ceremonies  and 
hospitalities  that  pilgrims  of  the  middle  ages  might  have 
witnessed.  We  were  shown  over  the  magnificent  Bar- 
baric Church,  visited  of  course  the  Grotto  where  the 
Blessed  Nativity  is  said  to  have  taken  place,  and  the 
rest  of  the  idols  set  up  for  worship  by  the  clumsy  legend. 
When  the  visit  was  concluded,  the  party  going  to  the 
Dead  Sea  filed  oif  with  their  armed  attendants;  each 
individual  traveller  making  as  brave  a  show  as  he  could, 
and  personally  accoutred  with  warlike  swords  and  pis- 
tols. The  picturesque  crowds,  and  the  Arabs  and  the 
horsemen,  in  the  sunshine ;  the  noble  old  convent,  and  the 
grey-bearded  priests,  with  their  feast;  and  the  church, 
and  its  pictures  and  columns,  and  incense;  the  wide 
brown  hills  spreading  round  the  village;  with  the  acci- 
dents of  the  road, — flocks  and  shepherds,  wells  and  fu- 
nerals, and  camel-trains, — have  left  on  my  mind  a  bril- 
liant, romantic,  and  cheerful  picture.     But  you.  Dear 

M ,  without  visiting  the  place,  have  imagined  one 

far  finer;  and  Bethlehem,  where  the  Holy  Child  was 
born,  and  the  angels  sang,  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
and  on  earth  peace  and  goodwill  tow^ards  men,"  is  the 
most  sacred  and  beautiful  spot  in  the  earth  to  you. 

B}^  far  the  most  comfortable  quarters  in  Jerusalem 
are  those  of  the  Armenians,  in  their  convent  of  St. 
James.  Wherever  we  have  been,  these  Eastern  Quakers 
look  grave,  and  jolly,  and  sleek.  Their  convent  at 
IMount  Zion  is  big  enough  to  contain  two  or  three  thou- 
sand of  their  faithful;  and  their  church  is  ornamented 
by  the  most  rich  and  hideous  gifts  ever  devised  by  un- 
couth piety.  Instead  of  a  bell,  the  fat  monks  of  the 
convent  beat  huge  noises  on  a  board,  and  drub  the  faith- 


THE  ARMENIAN   CONVENT  433 

fill  into  prayers.    I  never  saw  men  more  lazy  and  rosy 
than  these  reverend  fathers,  kneeling  in  their  comfort- 
able matted  church,  or  sitting  in  easy  devotion.     Pic- 
tures, images,  gilding,  tinsel,  wax-candles,  twinkle  all 
over  the  place;  and  ten  thousand  ostriches'  eggs  (or  any 
lesser  number  you  may  allot)  dangle  from  the  vaulted 
ceiling.    There  were  great  numbers  of  people  at  worship 
in  this  gorgeous  church;  they  went  on  their  knees,  kiss- 
ing the  walls  with  much  fervour,  and  paying  reverence 
to  the  most  precious  relic  of  the  convent,— the  chair  of 
St.  James,  their  patron,  the  first  Bishop  of  Jerusalem. 
The   chair   pointed   out  with   greatest   pride   in   the 
church  of  the  Latin  Convent,  is  that  shabby  red  damask 
one  appropriated  to  the  French  Consul,— the  represen- 
tative of  the  king  of  that  nation,— and  the  protection 
which  it  has   from  time  immemorial  accorded  to  the 
Christians   of  the   Latin   rite   in    Syria.      All   French^ 
writers  and  travellers  speak  of  this  protection  with  de- 
lightful complacency.     Consult  the  French  books  of 
travel  on  the  subject,  and  any  Frenchman  whom  you 
may  meet :  he  says,  "  JLa  France,  Monsieur,  de  tons  les 
te^nps  protege  les  Chretiens  cfOrient;^'  and  the  little 
fellow  looks  round  the  church  with  a  sweep  of  the  arm, 
and  protects  it  accordingly.     It  is  ho7i  ton  for  them  to 
go  in  processions;  and  you  see  them  on  such  errands, 
marching  with  long  candles,  as  gravely  as  may  be.    But 
I  have  never  been  able  to  edify  myself  with  their  devo- 
tion; and  the  religious  outpourings  of  Lamartine  and 
Chateaubriand,  which  we  have  all  been  reading  apro- 
pos of  the  journey  we  are  to  make,  have  inspired  me 
with   an   emotion    anything   but   respectful.      ''  Voyez 
comme  M.  de  Chateaubriand  prie  Dieu/'  the  Viscount's 
eloquence  seems  always  to  say.     There  is  a  sanctified 


434  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

grimace  about  the  little  French  pilgrim  which  it  is  very 
difficult  to  contemplate  gravely. 

The  pictures,  images,  and  ornaments  of  the  principal 
Latin  convent  are  quite  mean  and  j)oor,  compared  to  the 
•wealth  of  the  Armenians.  The  convent  is  spacious,  but 
squalid.  Many  hopping  and  crawling  plagues  are  said 
to  attack  the  skins  of  pilgrims  who  sleep  there.  It  is 
laid  out  in  courts  and  galleries,  the  mouldy  doors  of 
which  are  decorated  with  twopenny  pictures  of  favourite 
saints  and  martyrs;  and  so  great  is  the  shabbiness  and 
laziness,  that  you  might  fancy  yourself  in  a  convent  in 
Italy.  Brown-clad  fathers,  dirt}%  bearded,  and  sallow, 
go  gliding  about  the  corridors.  The  relic  manufactory 
before  mentioned  carries  on  a  considerable  business,  and 
despatches  bales  of  shells,  crosses,  and  beads  to  believers 
in  Europe.  These  constitute  the  chief  revenue  of  the 
convent  now.  La  France  is  no  longer  the  most  Chris- 
tian kingdom,  and  her  protection  of  the  Latins  is  not 
good  for  much  since  Charles  X.  was  expelled ;  and  Spain, 
which  used  likewise  to  be  generous  on  occasions,  (the 
gifts,  arms,  candlesticks,  baldaquins  of  the  Spanish  sov- 
ereigns figure  pretty  frequently  in  the  various  Latin 
chapels,)  has  been  stingy  since  the  late  disturbances,  the 
spoliation  of  the  clergy,  &c.  After  we  had  been  taken 
to  see  the  humble  curiosities  of  the  place,  the  Prior 
treated  us  in  his  wooden  parlour  with  little  glasses  of 
pink  Rosolio,  brought  with  many  bows  and  genuflex- 
ions by  his  reverence  the  convent  butler. 

After  this  communitj''  of  holy  men,  the  most  impor- 
tant perhaps  is  the  American  Convent,  a  Protestant  con- 
gregation of  Independents  chiefly,  who  deliver  tracts, 
propose  to  make  converts,  have  meetings  of  their  own, 
and  also  swell  the  little  congregation  that  attends  the 


AN  AMERICAN  CONSUL  435 

Anglican  service.  I  have  mentioned  our  fellow-traveller, 
the  Consul-General  for  Syria  of  the  United  States. 
He  was  a  tradesman,  who  had  made  a^  considerable  for- 
tune, and  lived  at  a  country-house  in  comfortable  re- 
tirement. But  his  opinion  is,  that  the  prophecies  of 
Scrij^ture  are  about  to  be  accomplished;  that  the  day  of 
the  return  of  the  Jews  is  at  hand,  and  the  glorification 
of  the  restored  Jerusalem.  He  is  to  witness  this— he 
and  a  favourite  dove  with  which  he  travels;  and  he  for- 
sook home  and  comfortable  country-house,  in  order  to 
make  this  journey.  He  has  no  other  knowledge  of 
Syria  but  what  he  derives  from  the  prophecy;  and  this 
(as  he  takes  the  office  gratis)  has  been  considered  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  his  appointment  by  the  United  States 
Government.  As  soon  as  he  arrived,  he  sent  and  de- 
manded an  interview  with  the  Pasha;  explained  to  him 
his  interpretation  of  the  Apocalypse,  in  which  he  has 
dificovered  that  the  Five  Powers  and  America  are  about 
to  intervene  in  Syrian  affairs,  and  the  infallible  re- 
turn of  the  Jews  to  Palestine.  The  news  must  have  as- 
tonished the  Lieutenant  of  the  Sublime  Porte ;  and  since 
the  days  of  the  Kingdom  of  ^lunster,  under  his  Ana- 
baptist ^lajest}^  John  of  Ley  den,  I  doubt  whether  any 
Government  has  received  or  appointed  so  queer  an  am- 
bassador. The  kind,  worthy,  simple  man  took  me  to 
his  temporary  consulate-house  at  the  American  INIission- 
ary  Establishment;  and,  under  pretence  of  treating  me 
to  white  wine,  expounded  his  ideas;  talked  of  futurity 
as  he  would  about  an  article  in  Tlie  Times;  and  had  no 
more  doubt  of  seeing  a  divine  kingdom  established  in 
Jerusalem  than  you  that  there  will  be  a  levee  next  spring 
at  St.  James's.  The  little  room  in  which  we  sat  was 
padded  with  missionary  tracts,  but  I  heard  of  scarce  any 


436  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

converts— not  more  than  are  made  by  our  own  Epis- 
copal establishment. 

But  if  the  latter's  religious  victories  are  small,  and 
very  few  people  are  induced  by  the  American  tracts,  and 
the  English  preaching  and  catechizing,  to  forsake  their 
own  manner  of  worshipping  the  Divine  Being  in  order 
to  follow  ours;  yet  surely  our  religious  colony  of  men 
and  women  can't  fail  to  do  good,  by  the  sheer  force  of 
good  example,  pure  life,  and  kind  offices.  The  ladies 
of  the  mission  have  numbers  of  clients,  of  all  persua- 
sions, in  the  town,  to  whom  they  extend  their  charities. 
Each  of  their  houses  is  a  model  of  neatness,  and  a  dis- 
pensary of  gentle  kindnesses;  and  the  ecclesiastics  have 
formed  a  modest  centre  of  civilization  in  the  place.  A 
dreary  joke  was  made  in  the  House  of  Commons  about 
Bishop  Alexander  and  the  Bishopess  his  lady,  and  the 
Bishoplings  his  numerous  children,  who  were  said  to 
have  scandalized  the  people  of  Jerusalem.  That  sneer 
evidently  came  from* the  Latins  and  Greeks;  for  what 
could  the  Jews  and^^urks  care  because  an  English 
clergyman  had  a  wife  and  children  as  their  own  priests 
have?  There  was  no  sort  of  ill-will  exhibited  towards 
them,  as  far  as  I  could  learn;  and  I  saw  the  Bishop's 
children  riding  about  the  town  as  safely  as  they  could 
about  Hyde  Park.  All  Europeans,  indeed,  seemed  to 
me  to  be  received  with  forbearance,  and  almost  courtesy, 
within  the  walls.  As  I  was  going  about  making 
sketches,  the  people  would  look  on  very  good-humour- 
edly,  without  offering  the  least  interruption;  nay,  two 
or  three  were  quite  ready  to  stand  still  for  such  a  humble 
portrait  as  my  pencil  could  make  of  them;  and  the 
sketch  done,  it  was  passed  from  one  person  to  another, 
each  making  his  comments,  and  signifying  a  very  polite 


SUBJECTS   FOR   SKETCHING 


437 


approval.  Here  are  a  pair  of  them,  Fath  Allah  and 
Ameenut  Daoodee  his  father,  horse-dealers  by  trade, 
who  came  and  sat  with  us  at  the  inn,  and  smoked  pipes 


(the  sun  being  down) ,  while  the  original  of  the  above 
masterpiece  was  made.  With  the  Arabs  outside  the 
walls,  however,  and  the  freshly  arriving  countrj^-'people, 
this  politeness  was  not  so  much  exhibited.  There  was 
a  certain  tattooed  girl,  with  black  ej^es  and  huge  silver 
earrings,  and  a  chin  delicately  picked  out  with  blue,  who 
formed  one  of  a  group  of  women  outside  the  great  con- 
vent, whose  likeness  I  longed  to  carry  off; — there  was 
a  woman  with  a  little  child  with  wondering  eyes,  drawing 
water  at  the  pool  of  Siloam,  in  such  an  attitude  and 
dress  as  Rebecca  may  have  had  when  Isaac's  lieutenant 
asked  her  for  drink: — both  of  these  parties  standing 
still  for  half  a  minute,  at  the  next  cried  out  for  back- 
sheesh; and  not  content  with  the  five  piastres  which  I 
gave  them  individually,  screamed  out  for  more,  and  sum- 


438  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

moiled  their  friends,  who  screamed  out  backsheesh  too. 
I  was  pursued  into  the  convent  by  a  dozen  howling 
women  calHng  for  pay,  barring  the  door  against  them, 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  worthy  papa  who  kept  it ;  and 
at  ^liriam's  Well  the  women  were  joined  bj^  a  man  with 
a  large  stick,  who  backed  their  petition.  But  him  we 
could  afford  to  laugh  at,  for  we  were  two,  and  had  sticks 
likewise. 

In  the  village  of  Siloam  I  would  not  recommend  the 
artist  to  loiter.  A  colony  of  ruffians  inhabit  the  dismal 
place,  who  have  guns  as  well  as  sticks  at  need.  Their 
dogs  howl  after  the  strangers  as  they  pass  through ;  and 
over  the  parapets  of  their  walls  you  are  saluted  by  the 
scowls  of  a  villainous  set  of  countenances,  that  it  is  not 
good  to  see  with  one  pair  of  eyes.  They  shot  a  man  at 
mid-day  at  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  gates  while 
we  were  at  Jerusalem,  and  no  notice  was  taken  of  the 
murder.  Hordes  of  Arab  robbers  infest  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  citv,  with  the  Sheikhs  of  whom  travellers 
make  terms  when  minded  to  pursue  their  journey.  I 
never  could  understand  why  the  walls  stopped  these 
warriors  if  they  had  a  mind  to  plunder  the  city,  for  there 
are  but  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  in  the  garrison  to  man 
the  long  lonely  lines  of  defence. 

I  have  seen  onty  in  Titian's  pictures  those  magnificent 
purple  shadows  in  which  the  hills  round  about  lay,  as  the 
dawn  rose  faintly  behind  them ;  and  we  looked  at  Olivet 
for  the  last  time  from  our  terrace,  where  we  were  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  horses  that  were  to  carry  us  to 
Jaffa.  A  yellow  moon  was  still  blazing  in  the  midst  of 
countless  brilliant  stars  overhead;  the  nakedness  and 
misery  of  the  surrounding  city  were  hidden  in  that  beau- 


SUBJECTS    FOR    SKETCHING         439 

tiful  rosy  atmosphere  of  mingling  night  and  dawn. 
The  city  never  looked  so  noble ;  the  mosques,  domes,  and 
minarets  rising  up  into  the  calm  star -lit  sky. 

By  the  gate  of  Bethlehem  there  stands  one  palm-tree, 
and  a  house  with  three  domes.  Put  these  and  the  huge 
old  Gothic  gate  as  a  background  dark  against  the  yel- 
lowing eastern  sky:  the  foreground  is  a  deep  grey:  as 
you  look  into  it  dark  forms  of  horsemen  come  out  of 
the  twilight:  now  there  come  lanterns,  more  horsemen, 
a  litter  with  mules,  a  crowd  of  Arab  horseboys  and 
dealers  accompanying  their  beasts  to  the  gate;  all  the 
members  of  our  party  come  up  by  twos  and  threes ;  and, 
at  last,  the  great  gate  opens  just  before  sunrise,  and  we 
get  into  the  grey  plains. 

Oh!  the  luxury  of  an  English  saddle!  An  English 
servant  of  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  mission  procured 
it  for  _iie,  on  the  back  of  a  little  mare,  which  (as  I  am 
a  light  weight)  did  not  turn  a  hair  in  the  course  of  the 
day's  march— and  after  we  got  quit  of  the  ugly,  stony, 
clattering,  mountainous  Abou  Gosh  district,  into  the 
fair  undulating  plain,  which  stretches  to  Ramleh,  car- 
ried me  into  the  town  at  a  pleasant  hand-gallop.  A  ne- 
gro, of  preternatural  ugliness,  in  a  yellow  gown,  with 
a  crimson  handkerchief  streaming  over  his  head,  dig- 
ging his  shovel  spurs  into  the  lean  animal  he  rode,  and 
driving  three  others  before — swaying  backwards  and 
forwards  on  his  horse,  now  embracing  his  ears,  and  now 
almost  under  his  belly,  screaming  "  yallah  "  with  the 
most  frightful  shrieks,  and  singing  country  songs— 
galloped  along  ahead  of  me.  I  acquired  one  of  his 
poems  pretty  well,  and  could  imitate  his  shriek  accu- 
rately; but  I  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  singing  it 
to  you  in  England.    I  had  forgotten  the  delightful  dis- 


440  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

sonance  two  days  after,  both  the  negro's  and  that  of  a 
real  Arab  minstrel,  a  donkey-driver  accompanying  our 
baggage,  who  sang  and  grinned  with  the  most  amusing 
good  humour. 

We  halted  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  in  a  little  wood 
of  olive-trees,  which  forms  almost  the  only  shelter  be- 
tween Jaffa  and  Jerusalem,  except  that  afforded  by 
the  orchards  in  the  odious  village  of  Abou  Gosh,  through 
which  we  went  at  a  double  quick  pace.  Under  the 
olives,  or  up  in  the  branches,  some  of  our  friends  took  a 
siesta.  I  have  a  sketch  of  four  of  them  so  employed. 
Two  of  them  were  dead  within  a  month  of  the  fatal 
Syrian  fever.  But  we  did  not  know  how  near  fate  was 
to  us  then.  Fires  were  lighted,  and  fowls  and  eggs 
divided,  and  tea  and  coffee  served  round  in  tin  panikins, 
and  here  we  lighted  pipes,  and  smoked  and  laughed  at 
our  ease.  I  believe  everybody  was  happy  to  be  out  of 
Jerusalem.  The  impression  I  have  of  it  now  is  of  ten 
days  passed  in  a  fever. 

We  all  found  quarters  in  the  Greek  convent  at  Ram- 
leh,  where  the  monks  served  us  a  supper  on  a  terrace, 
in  a  pleasant  sunset;  a  beautiful  and  cheerful  landscape 
stretching  around;  the  land  in  graceful  undulations,  the 
towers  and  mosques  rosy  in  the  sunset,  with  no  lack 
of  verdure,  especially  of  graceful  palms.  Jaffa  was 
nine  miles  off.  As  we  rode  all  the  morning  we  had  been 
accompanied  by  the  smoke  of  our  steamer,  twenty  miles 
off  at  sea. 

The  convent  is  a  huge  caravanserai ;  only  three  or  four 
monks  dwell  in  It,  the  ghostly  hotel-keepers  of  the  place. 
The  horses  were  tied  up  and  fed  in  the  courtyard,  into 
which  we  rode ;  above  were  the  living-rooms,  wliere  there 
is  accommodation,  not  only  for  an  unlimited  number 


RAMLEH  441 

of  pilgrims,  but  for  a  vast  and  innumerable  host  of 
hopping  and  crawling  things,  who  usually  persist  in  par- 
taking of  the  traveller's  bed.  Let  all  thin-skinned  trav- 
ellers in  the  East  be  warned  on  no  account  to  travel  with- 
out the  admirable  invention  described  in  Mr.  Fellowes' 
book;  nay,  possibly  invented  by  that  enterprising  and 
learned  traveller.  You  make  a  sack,  of  calico  or  linen, 
big  enough  for  the  body,  appended  to  which  is  a  closed 
chimney  of  muslin,  stretched  out  by  cane-hoops,  and 
fastened  up  to  a  beam,  or  against  the  wall.  You  keep 
a  sharp  eye  to  see  that  no  flea  or  bug  is  on  the  look-out, 
and  when  assured  of  this,  you  pop  into  the  bag,  tightly 
closing  the  orifice  after  you.  This  admirable  bug-disap- 
pointer  I  tried  at  Ramleh,  and  had  the  only  undisturbed 
night's  rest  I  enjoyed  in  the  East.  To  be  sure,  it 
was  a  short  night,  for  our  party  were  stirring  at  one 
o'clock,  and  those  who  got  up  insisted  on  talking  and 
keeping  awake  those  who  inclined  to  sleep.  But  I  shall 
never  forget  the  terror  inspired  in  my  mind,  being  shut 
up  in  the  bug-disappointer,  when  a  facetious  lay-bro- 
ther of  the  convent  fell  upon  me  and  began  tickling  me. 
I  never  had  the  courage  again  to  try  the  anti-flea  con- 
trivance, preferring  the  friskiness  of  those  animals  to 
the  sports  of  such  a  greasy  grinning  wag  as  my  friend 
at  Ramleh. 

In  the  morning,  and  long  before  sunrise,  our  little 
caravan  was  in  marching  order  again.  We  went  out 
wdth  lanterns  and  shouts  of  "  yallah  "  through  the  nar- 
row streets,  and  issued  into  the  plain,  where,  though 
there  was  no  moon,  there  were  blazing  stars  shining 
steadily  overhead.  They  become  friends  to  a  man  who 
travels,  especially  under  the  clear  Eastern  sky;  whence 
they  look  down  as  if  protecting  you,  solemn,  yellow, 


442  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

and  refulgent.  They  seem  nearer  to  you  than  in  Eu- 
rope; larger  and  more  awful.  So  we  rode  on  till  the 
dawn  rose,  and  Jaffa  came  in  view.  The  friendly  ship 
was  lying  out  in  waiting  for  us;  the  horses  were  given 
up  to  their  owners :  and  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  naked 
beggars,  and  a  perfect  storm  of  curses  and  yells  for 
backsheesh,  our  party  got  into  their  boats,  and  to  the 
ship,  where  we  were  welcomed  by  the  very  best  cap- 
tain that  ever  sailed  upon  this  maritime  globe,  namely 
Captain  Samuel  Lewis,  of  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental 
Company's  Service. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FROM    JAFFA   TO   ALEXANDRIA 

[From  the  Providor''s  Log-book.] 
BILL  OF  FARE,  October  12th. 

Mulligatawny  Soup. 

Salt  Fish  and  Egg  Sauce. 

Roast  Haunch  of  Mutton. 

Boiled  Shoulder  and  Onion  Sauce. 

Boiled  Beef. 

Roast  Fowls. 

Pillau  ditto. 

Ham. 

Haricot  Mutton. 

Curry  and  Rice. 

Cabbage. 
French  Beans. 
Boiled  Potatoes. 
Baked  ditto 

Damson  Tart. 
Currant  ditto. 
Rice  Puddings. 
Currant  Fritters, 

WE  were  just  at  the  port's  mouth — and  could  see 
the  towers  and  buildings  of  Alexandria  rising 
purple  against  the  sunset,  when  the  report  of  a  gun 
came  booming  over  the  calm  golden  water;  and  we 
heard,  with  much  mortification,  that  we  had  no  chance 

443 


444  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

of  getting  pratique  that  night.  Akeady  the  ungrate- 
ful passengers  had  begun  to  tire  of  the  ship, — though  in 
our  absence  in  Syria  it  had  been  carefully  cleansed  and 
purified;  though  it  was  cleared  of  the  swarming  Jews 
who  had  infested  the  decks  all  the  way  from  Constanti- 
nople; and  though  we  had  been  feasting  and  carousing 
in  the  manner  described  above. 

But  very  early  next  morning  we  bore  into  the  harbour, 
busy  with  a  great  quantity  of  craft.  We  passed  huge 
black  hulks  of  mouldering  men-of-war,  from  the  sterns 
of  which  trailed  the  dirty  red  flag,  with  the  star  and 
crescent;  boats,  manned  with  red-capped  seamen,  and 
captains  and  steersmen  in  beards  and  tarbooshes,  passed 
continually  among  these  old  hulks,  the  rowers  bending 
to  their  oars,  so  that  at  each  stroke  they  disappeared 
bodily  in  the  boat.  Besides  these,  there  was  a  large  fleet 
of  country  ships,  and  stars  and  stripes,  and  tricolours, 
and  Union  Jacks;  and  many  active  steamers,  of  the 
French  and  English  companies,  shooting  in  and  out 
of  the  harbour,  or  moored  in  the  briny  waters.  The  ship 
of  our  company,  the  "  Oriental,"  lay  there— a  palace 
upon  the  brine,  and  some  of  the  Pasha's  steam-vessels 
likewise,  looking  very  like  Christian  boats;  but  it  was 
queer  to  look  at  some  unintelligible  Turkish  flourish 
painted  on  the  stern,  and  the  long-tailed  Arabian  hiero- 
glyphics gilt  on  the  paddle-boxes.  Our  dear  friend  and 
comi'ade  of  Beyrout  (if  we  may  be  permitted  to  call 
her  so),  H.  M.  S.  "Trump,"  was  in  the  harbour;  and 
the  captain  of  that  gallant  ship,  coming  to  greet  us, 
drove  some  of  us  on  shore  in  his  gig. 

I  had  been  preparing  myself  overnight,  by  the  help 
of  a  cigar  and  a  moonlight  contemplation  on  deck,  for 
sensations  on  landing  in  Egypt.     I  was  ready  to  yield 


FROM   JAFFA   TO   ALEXANDRIA    445 

myself  up  with  solemnity  to  the  mystic  grandeur  of  the 
scene  of  initiation.  Pompey's  Pillar  must  stand  like 
a  mountain,  in  a  yellow  plain,  surrounded  by  a  grove  of 
obelisks  as  tall  as  palm-trees.  Placid  sphinxes  brooding 
o'er  the  Nile— mighty  Memnonian  countenances  calm 
—had  revealed  Egypt  to  me  in  a  sonnet  of  Tennyson's, 
and  I  was  ready  to  gaze  on  it  with  pyramidal  wonder 
and  hieroglyphic  awe. 

The  landing  quay  at  Alexandria  is  like  the  dockyard 
quay  at  Portsmouth:  with  a  few  score  of  brown  faces 
scattered  among  the  population.  There  are  slop-sell- 
ers, dealers  in  marine-stores,  bottled-porter  shops,  sea- 
men lolling  about ;  flys  and  cabs  are  plying  for  hire :  and 
a  yelhng  chorus  of  donkey-boys,  shrieking,  "  Ride,  sir! 
—donkey,  sir!— I  say,  sir!  "  in  excellent  English,  dispel 
all  romantic  notions.  The  placid  sphinxes  brooding 
o'er  the  Nile  disappeared  with  that  shriek  of  the  donkey- 
boys.  You  might  be  as  well  impressed  with  Wapping 
as  with  your  first  step  on  Egyptian  soil. 

The  riding  of  a  donkey  is,  after  all,  not  a  dignified 
occupation.  A  man  resists  the  offer  at  first,  somehow, 
as  an  indignity.  How  is  that  poor  little,  red-saddled, 
long-eared  creature  to  carry  you?  Is  there  to  be  one  for 
you  and  another  for  your  legs  ?  Natives  and  Europeans, 
of  all  sizes,  pass  by,  it  is  true,  mounted  upon  the  same 
contrivance.  I  waited  until  I  got  into  a  very  private 
spot,  where  nobody  could  see  me,  and  then  ascended— 
why  not  say  descended,  at  once?— on  the  poor  little  ani- 
mal. Instead  of  being  crushed  at  once,  as  perhaps  the 
rider  expected,  it  darted  forward,  quite  briskly  and 
cheerfully,  at  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour;  requiring  no 
spur  or  admonitive  to  haste,  except  the  shrieking  of  the 
little  Egyptian  gamin,  who  ran  along  by  asinus's  side. 


446  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  character  of  the  houses  by  which  you  pass  is 
scarcely  Eastern  at  all.  The  streets  are  busy  with  a 
motley  population  of  Jews  and  Armenians,  slave-driv- 
ing-looking Europeans,  large-breeched  Greeks,  and 
well-shaven  buxom  merchants,  looking  as  trim  and  fat 
as  those  on  the  Bourse  or  on  'Change;  only,  among  the 
natives,  the  stranger  can't  fail  to  remark  (as  the  Ca- 
liph did  of  the  Calenders,  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights  ") 
that  so  many  of  them  have  only  one  eye.  It  is  the  hor- 
rid ophthalmia  which  has  played  such  frightful  ravages 
with  them.  You  see  children  sitting  in  the  doorways, 
their  eyes  completely  closed  up  with  the  green  sickening 
sore,  and  the  flies  feeding  on  them.  Five  or  six  min- 
utes of  the  donkey-ride  brings  you  to  the  Frank  quar- 
ter, and  the  handsome  broad  street  (like  a  street  of  Mar- 
seilles) where  the  principal  hotels  and  merchants'  houses 
are  to  be  found,  and  where  the  consuls  have  their  houses, 
and  hoist  their  flags.  The  palace  of  the  French  Consul- 
General  makes  the  grandest  show  in  the  street,  and  pre- 
sents a  great  contrast  to  the  humble  abode  of  the  Eng- 
lish representative,  who  protects  his  fellow-countrymen 
from  a  second  floor. 

But  that  Alexandrian  two-pair-front  of  a  Consulate 
was  more  welcome  and  cheering  than  a  palace  to  most 
of  us.  For  there  lay  certain  letters,  with  post-marks 
of  Home  upon  them;  and  kindly  tidings,  the  first  heard 
for  two  months: — though  we  had  seen  so  many  men  and 
cities  since,  that  Cornhill  seemed  to  be  a  year  off,  at 
least,  with  certain  j^ersons  dwelling  (more  or  less)  in 
that  vicinity.  I  saw  a  young  Oxford  man  seize  his  des- 
patches, and  slink  off  with  several  letters,  written  in  a 
tight,  neat  hand,  and  sedulously  crossed ;  which  any  man 
could  see,  without  looking  farther,  were  the  handiwork 


FROM   JAFFA   TO    ALEXANDRIA    447 

of  Mary  Ann,  to  whom  he  is  attached.  The  lawyer  re- 
ceived a  bundle  from  his  chambers,  in  which  his  clerk 
eased  his  soul  regarding  the  state  of  Siiooks  v.  Rodgers, 
Smith  ats.  Tomkins,  &c.  The  statesman  had  a  packet 
of  thick  envelopes,  decorated  with  that  profusion  of 
sealing-wax  in  which  official  recklessness  lavishes  the 
resources  of  the  country:  and  your  humble  servant  got 
just  one  little,  modest  letter,  containing  another,  written 
in  pencil  characters,  varying  in  size  between  one  and 
two  inches;  but  how  much  pleasanter  to  read  than  my 
lord's  despatch,  or  the  clerk's  account  of  Smith  ats.  Tom- 
kins,— yes,  even  than  the  Mary  Ann  correspondence! 
....  Yes,  my  dear  madam,  you  will  understand  me, 
when  I  say  that  it  was  from  little  Polly  at  home,  with 
some  confidential  news  about  a  cat,  and  the  last  report 
of  her  new  doll. 

It  was  worth  while  to  have  made  the  journey  for  this 
pleasure:  to  have  walked  the  deck  on  long  nights,  and 
have  thought  of  home.  You  have  no  leisure  to  do  so  in 
the  city.  You  don't  see  the  heavens  shine  above  you  so 
purely  there,  or  the  stars  so  clearly.  How,  after  the 
perusal  of  the  above  documents,  we  enjoyed  a  file  of  the 
admirable  Galignani;  and  what  O'Connell  was  doing; 
and  the  twelve  last  new  victories  of  the  French  in  Al- 
geria; and,  above  all,  six  or  seven  numbers  of  Punch! 
There  might  have  been  an  avenue  of  Pompey's  Pillars 
within  reach,  and  a  live  sphinx  sporting  on  the  banks 
of  the  INIahmoodieh  Canal,  and  we  would  not  have 
stirred  to  see  them,  until  Punch  had  had  his  interview 
and  Galignani  was  dismissed. 

The  curiosities  of  Alexandria  are  few,  and  easily  seen. 
We  went  into  the  bazaars,  which  have  a  much  more 
Eastern  look  than  the  European  quarter,  with  its  An- 


448  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

glo-Gallic-Italian  inhabitants,  and  Babel-like  civiliza- 
tion. Here  and  there  a  large  hotel,  clumsy  and  white- 
washed, with  Oriental  trellised  windows,  and  a  couple 
of  slouching  sentinels  at  the  doors,  in  the  ugliest  com- 
posite uniform  that  ever  was  seen,  was  pointed  out  as 
the  residence  of  some  great  officer  of  the  Pasha's  Court, 
or  of  one  of  the  numerous  children  of  the  Egyptian 
Solomon.  His  Highness  was  in  his  own  palace,  and 
was  consequently  not  visible.  He  was  in  deep  grief, 
and  strict  retirement.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the 
European  newspapers  announced  that  he  was  about  to 
resign  his  empire;  but  the  quidnuncs  of  Alexandria 
hinted  that  a  love-affair,  in  which  the  old  potentate  had 
engaged  with  senile  extravagance,  and  the  effects  of 
a  potion  of  hachich,  or  some  deleterious  drug,  with 
which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  intoxicating  himself,  had 
brought  on  that  languor  and  desperate  weariness  of  life 
and  governing,  into  which  the  venerable  Prince  was 
plunged.  Before  three  days  were  over,  however,  the 
fit  had  left  him,  and  he  determined  to  live  and  reign 
a  little  longer.  A  very  few  days  afterwards  several  of 
our  party  were  presented  to  him  at  Cairo,  and  found 
the  great  Egyptian  ruler  perfectly  convalescent. 

This,  and  the  Opera,  and  the  quarrels  of  the  two 
prime  donne,  and  the  beauty  of  one  of  them,  formed  the 
chief  subjects  of  conversation;  and  I  had  this  important 
news  in  the  shop  of  a  certain  barber  in  the  town,  who 
conveyed  it  in  a  language  composed  of  French,  Spanish, 
and  Italian,  and  with  a  volubility  quite  worthy  of  a 
barber  of  Gil  Bias. 

Then  we  went  to  see  the  famous  obelisk  presented 
by  JNIehemet  Ali  to  the  British  Government,  who  have 
not  shown  a  particular  alacrity  to  accept  this  ponderous 


POMPEY'S   PILLAR  449 

present.  The  huge  shaft  lies  on  the  ground  prostrate, 
and  desecrated  by  all  sorts  of  abominations.  Children 
were  sprawling  about,  attracted  by  the  dirt  there. 
Arabs,  negroes,  and  donkey-boys  were  passing,  quite 
indifferent,  by  the  fallen  monster  of  a  stone,— as  indif- 
ferent as  the  British  Government,  who  don't  care  for 
recording  the  glorious  termination  of  their  Egyptian 
campaign  of  1801.  If  our  country  takes  the  compli- 
ment so  coolly,  surely  it  would  be  disloyal  upon  our 
parts  to  be  more  enthusiastic.  I  wish  they  would  offer 
the  Trafalgar  Square  Pillar  to  the  Egyptians ;  and  that 
both  of  the  huge,  ugly  monsters  were  lying  in  the  dirt 
there,  side  by  side. 

Pompey's  Pillar  is  by  no  means  so  big  as  the  Char- 
ing Cross  trophy.  This  venerable  column  has  not  es- 
caped ill-treatment  either.  Numberless  ships'  compa- 
nies, travelling  Cockneys,  &c.,  have  affixed  their  rude 
marks  upon  it.  Some  daring  ruffian  even  painted  the 
name  of  "  Warren's  blacking  "  upon  it,  effacing  other 
inscriptions,— one,  Wilkinson  says,  of  "  the  second 
Psammetichus."  I  regret  deeply,  my  dear  friend,  that 
I  cannot  give  you  this  document  respecting  a  lamented 
monarch,  in  whose  history  I  know  you  take  such  an  in- 
terest. 

The  best  sight  I  saw  in  Alexandria  was  a  negro  holi- 
day ;  which  was  celebrated  outside  of  the  town  by  a  sort 
of  negro  village  of  huts,  swarming  with  old,  lean,  fat, 
ugly,  infantine,  happy  faces,  that  nature  has  smeared 
with  a  preparation  even  more  black  and  durable  than 
that  with  which  Psammetichus's  base  has  been  polished. 
Every  one  of  these  jolly  faces  was  on  the  broad  grin, 
from  the  dusky  mother  to  the  india-rubber  child  sprawl- 
ing upon  her  back,  and  the  venerable  jetty  senior  whose 


450  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

wool  was  as  white  as  that  of  a  sheep  in  Florian's  pas- 
torals. 

To  these  dancers  a  couple  of  fellows  were  playing  on 
a  drum  and  a  little  banjo.  They  were  singing  a  chorus, 
which  was  not  onlj^  singular,  and  perfectly  marked  in 
the  rhythm,  but  exceeding  sweet  in  the  tune.  They 
danced  in  a  circle;  and  performers  came  trooping  from 
all  quarters,  who  fell  into  the  round,  and  began  wag- 
ghng  their  heads,  and  waving  their  left  hands,  and  toss- 
ing up  and  down  the  little  thin  rods  which  they  each 
carried,  and  all  singing  to  the  very  best  of  their  power. 


I  saw  the  chief  eunuch  of  the  Grand  Turk  at  Con- 
stantinople pass  by—  (on  the  next  page  is  an  accurate 
likeness  of  his  beautiful  features)  —but  with  what  a 


THE  COFFEE-HOUSES  451 

different  expression!  Tliough  he  is  one  of  the  greatest 
of  the  great  in  the  Turkish  Empire  (ranking  with  a 
Cabinet  Minister  or  Lord  Chamberlain  here),  his  fine 
countenance  was  clouded  with  care,  and  savage  with 
ennui. 

Here  his  black  brethren  were  ragged,  starving,  and 
happy;  and  I  need  not  tell  such  a  fine  moralist  as  you 
are,  how  it  is  the  case,  in  the  white  as  well  as  the  black 
world,  that  happiness  (republican  leveller,  who  does  not 
care  a  fig  for  the  fashion)  often  disdains  the  turrets  of 
kings,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  "  tabernas  pauperum." 

We  went  the  round  of  the  coffee-houses  in  the  even- 
ing, both  the  polite  European  places  of  resort,  where 
you  get  ices  and  the  French  papers,  and  those  in  the 
town,  where  Greeks,  Turks,  and  general  company  re- 
sort, to  sit  upon  uncomfortable  chairs,  and  drink 
wretched  muddy  coffee,  and  to  listen  to  two  or  three 
miserable  musicians,  who  keep  up  a  variation  of  howling 
for  hours  together.  But  the  pretty  song  of  the  niggers 
had  spoiled  me  for  that  abominable  music. 


CHAPTER  XV 

TO    CAIRO 

WE  had  no  need  of  hiring  the  country  boats  wliich 
ply  on  the  Mahmoodieh  Canal  to  Atfeh,  where 
it  joins  the  Nile,  but  were  accommodated  in  one  of  the 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company's  fly-boats;  pretty 
similar  to  those  narrow  Irish  canal  boats  in  which  the  en- 
terprising traveller  has  been  carried  from  Dublin  to  Bal- 
linasloe.  The  present  boat  was,  to  be  sure,  tugged  by  a 
little  steamer,  so  that  the  Egyj)tian  canal  is  ahead  of  the 
Irish  in  so  far:  in  natural  scenery,  the  one  prospect  is 
fully  equal  to  the  other;  it  must  be  confessed  that  there 
is  nothing  to  see.  In  truth,  there  was  nothing  but  this: 
you  saw  a  muddy  bank  on  each  side  of  j^ou,  and  a  blue 
sky  overhead.  A  few  round  mud-huts  and  palm-trees 
were  planted  along  the  line  here  and  there.  Sometimes 
we  would  see,  on  the  water-side,  a  woman  in  a  blue  robe, 
with  her  son  by  her,  in  that  tight  brown  costume  with 
which  Nature  had  supplied  him.  Now,  it  was  a  hat 
dropped  by  one  of  the  party  into  the  water;  a  brown 
Arab  plunged  and  disappeared  incontinently  after  the 
hat,  re-issued  from  the  muddy  water,  prize  in  hand,  and 
ran  naked  after  the  httle  steamer  (which  was  by  this 
time  far  ahead  of  him) ,  his  brawny  limbs  shining  in  the 
sun:  then  we  had  half -cold  fowls  and  bitter  ale: 'then 
we  had  dinner — bitter  ale  and  cold  fowls;  with  which 
incidents  the  day  on  the  canal  passed  away,  as  harm- 
lessly as  if  we  had  been  in  a  Dutch  trackschuyt. 

452 


THE  NILE 


453 


Towards  evening  we  arrived  at  the  town  of  Atfeh — 
half  land,  half  houses,  half  palm-trees,  with  swarms  of 
half -naked  people  crowding  the  rustic  shady  bazaars, 
and  bartering  their  produce  of  fruit  or  many-coloured 
grain.  Here  the  canal  came  to  a  check,  ending  abruptly 
with  a  large  lock.  A  little  fleet  of  masts  and  country 
ships  were  beyond  the  lock,  and  it  led  into  The  Nile. 

After  all,  it  is  something  to  have  seen  these  red  wa- 
ters. It  is  only  low  green  banks,  mud-huts,  and  palm- 
clumps,  with  the  sun  setting  red  behind  them,  and  the 
great,  dull,  sinuous  river  flashing  here  and  there  in  the 
light.  But  it  is  the  Nile,  the  old  Saturn  of  a  stream 
— a  divinity  yet,  though  younger  river-gods  have  de- 
posed him.  Hail!  O  venerable  father  of  crococliles! 
We  were  all  lost  in  sentiments  of  the  profoundest  awe 
and  respect;  which  we  proved  by  tumbhng  down  into 


454  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  cabin  of  the  Nile  steamer  that  was  waiting  to  re- 
ceive us,  and  fighting  and  cheating  for  sleeping-berths. 

At  dawn  in  the  morning  we  were  on  deck;  the  char- 
acter had  not  altered  of  the  scenery  about  the  river. 
Vast  flat  stretches  of  land  were  on  either  side,  recov- 
ering from  the  subsiding  inundations:  near  the  mud 
villages,  a  country  ship  or  two  were  roosting  under  the 
date-trees;  the  landscape  everywhere  stretching  away 
level  and  lonely.  In  the  sky  in  the  east  was  a  long  streak 
of  greenish  light,  which  widened  and  rose  until  it  grew 
to  be  of  an  opal  colour,  then  orange;  then,  behold,  the 
round  red  disc  of  the  sun  rose  flaming  up  above  the  hori- 
zon. All  the  water  blushed  as  he  got  up;  the  deck  was 
all  red;  the  steersman  gave  his  helm  to  another,  and 
prostrated  himself  on  the  deck,  and  bowed  his  head  east- 
ward, and  praised  the  Maker  of  the  sun:  it  shone  on 
his  white  turban  as  he  was  kneeling,  and  gilt  up  his 
bronzed  face,  and  sent  his  blue  shadow  over  the  glow- 
ing deck.  The  distances,  which  had  been  grey,  were 
now  clothed  in  purple;  and  the  broad  stream  was  illu- 
minated. As  the  sun  rose  higher,  the  morning  blush 
faded  away;  the  sky  was  cloudless  and  pale,  and  the 
river  and  the  surrounding  landscape  were  dazzlingly 
clear. 

Looking  ahead  in  an  hour  or  two,  we  saw  the  Pyra- 
mids.    Fancy  my  sensations,  dear  M ;— two  big 

ones  and  a  little  one: 

!  !  I 

There  they  lay,  rosy  and  solemn  in  the  distance— those 
old,  majestical,  mystical,  famihar  edifices.  Several  of 
us  tried  to  be  impressed;  but  breakfast  supervening, 


THE  NILE  455 

a  rush  was  made  at  the  coffee  and  cold  pies,  and  the 
sentiment  of  awe  was  lost  in  the  scramble  for  victuals. 

Are  we  so  biases  of  the  world  that  the  greatest  mar- 
vels in  it  do  not  succeed  in  moving  us?  Have  society, 
Pall  Mall  clubs,  and  a  habit  of  sneering,  so  withered 
up  our  organs  of  veneration  that  we  can  admire  no 
more?  My  sensation  with  regard  to  the  Pyramids  was, 
that  I  had  seen  them  before:  then  came  a  feeling  of 
shame  that  the  view  of  them  should  awaken  no  respect. 
Then  I  wanted  (naturally)  to  see  whether  my  neigh- 
bours were  any  more  enthusiastic  than  myself— Trinity 
College,  Oxford,  was  busy  with  the  cold  ham :  Downing 
Street  was  particularly  attentive  to  a  bunch  of  grapes : 
Fig-tree  Court  behaved  with  decent  propriety;  he  is  in 
good  practice,  and  of  a  Conservative  turn  of  mind, 
which  leads  him  to  respect  from  principle  les  fails  ac- 
complis;  perhaps  he  remembered  that  one  of  them  was 
as  big  as  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  But,  the  truth  is,  no- 
body was  seriously  moved.  .  .  .  And  why  should  they, 
because  of  an  exaggeration  of  bricks  ever  so  enormous? 
I  confess,  for  my  part,  that  the  Pyramids  are  very  big. 

After  a  voyage  of  about  thirty  hours,  the  steamer 
brought  up  at  the  quay  of  Boulak,  amidst  a  small  fleet 
of  dirty  comfortless  Cangias,  in  which  cottons  and  mer- 
chandise were  loading  and  unloading,  and  a  huge  noise 
and  bustle  on  the  shore.  Numerous  villas,  parks,  and 
country-houses,  had  begun  to  decorate  the  Cairo  bank 
of  the  stream  ere  this :  residences  of  the  Pasha's  nobles, 
who  have  had  orders  to  take  their  pleasure  here  and 
beautify  the  precincts  of  the  capital;  tall  factory  chim- 
neys also  rise  here ;  there  are  foundries  and  steam-engine 
manufactories.     These,  and  the  pleasure-houses,  stand 


456  JOURNEY  FRO^I  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

as  trim  as  soldiers  on  parade;  contrasting  with  the 
swarming,  slovenly,  close,  tumble-down.  Eastern  old 
town,  that  forms  the  outport  of  Cairo,  and  was  built 
before  the  importation  of  European  taste  and  discipline. 

Here  we  alighted  upon  donkeys,  to  the  full  as  brisk 
as  those  of  Alexandria,  invaluable  to  timid  riders,  and 
equal  to  any  weight.  We  had  a  Jerusalem  pony  race 
into  Cairo;  my  animal  beating  all  the  rest  by  many 
lengths.  The  entrance  to  the  capital,  from  Boulak,  is 
very  pleasant  and  picturesque — over  a  fair  road,  and 
the  wide-planted  plain  of  the  Ezbekieh;  where  are  gar- 
dens, canals,  fields,  and  avenues  of  trees,  and  where 
the  great  ones  of  the  town  come  and  take  their  pleasure. 
We  saw  manj^  barouches  driving  about  with  fat  Pashas 
lolling  on  the  cushions;  stately -looking  colonels  and 
doctors  taking  their  ride,  followed  by  their  orderlies  or 
footmen;  lines  of  people  taking  pipes  and  sherbet  in 
the  coffee-houses;  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  sights  of 
all, — a  fine  new  white  building  with  Hotel  d'Orient 
written  up  in  huge  French  characters,  and  which,  in- 
deed, is  an  establishment  as  large  and  comfortable  as 
most  of  "the  best  inns  of  the  South  of  France.  As  a 
hundred  Christian  people,  or  more,  come  from  England 
and  from  India  every  fortnight,  this  inn  has  been  built 
to  accommodate  a  large  projDortion  of  them;  and  twice 
a  month,  at  least,  its  sixty  rooms  are  full. 

The  gardens  from  the  windows  give  a  very  pleasant 
and  animated  view:  the  hotel-gate  is  besieged  by  crews 
of  donkey-drivers;  the  noble  stately  Arab  women,  with 
tawny  skins  (of  which  a  simj)le  robe  of  floating  blue 
cotton  enables  you  liberally  to  see  the  colour)  and  large 
black  eyes,  come  to  the  well  hard  by  for  water:  camels 
are  perpetually  arriving  and  setting  down  their  loads: 


THE   HOTEL   D'ORIENT  457 

the  court  is  full  of  bustling  dragomans,  ayahs,  and  chil- 
dren from  India ;  and  poor  old  venerable  he-nurses,  with 
grey  beards  and  crimson  turbans,  tending  little  white- 
faced  babies  that  have  seen  the  light  at  Dumdum  or 
Euttyghur:  a  copper-coloured  barber,  seated  on  his 
hams,  is  shaving  a  camel-driver  at  the  great  inn-gate. 
The  bells  are  ringing  prodigiously;  and  Lieutenant 
Waghorn  is  bouncing  in  and  out  of  the  court-yard  full 
of  business.  He  only  left  Bombay  yesterday  morning, 
was  seen  in  the  Red  Sea  on  Tuesday,  is  engaged  to 
dinner  this  afternoon  in  the  Regent's  Park,  and  ( as  it  is 
about  two  minutes  since  I  saw  him  in  the  court-yard) 
I  make  no  doubt  he  is  by  this  time  at  Alexandria  or 
at  Malta,  say,  perhaps,  at  both.  II  en  est  capable.  If 
any  man  can  be  at  two  places  at  once  (which  I  don't 
believe  or  den}'')  Waghorn  is  he. 

Six-o'clock  bell  rings.  Sixty  people  sit  down  to  a 
quasi-Erench  banquet:  thirtj^  Indian  officers  in  mous- 
taches and  jackets;  ten  civilians  in  ditto  and  specta- 
cles; ten  pale-faced  ladies  with  ringlets,  to  whom  all 
pay  prodigious  attention.  All  the  pale  ladies  drink  pale 
ale,  which,  perhaps,  accounts  for  it;  in  fact  the  Bombay 
and  Suez  passengers  have  just  arrived,  and  hence  this 
crowding  and  bustling,  and  display  of  military  jackets 
and  moustaches,  and  ringlets  and  beauty.  The  win- 
dows are  open,  and  a  rush  of  mosquitoes  from  the 
Ezbekieh  waters,  attracted  b}^  the  wax-candles,  adds 
greatly  to  the  excitement  of  the  scene.  There  was  a 
Httle  tough  old  Major,  who  persisted  in  flinging  open 
the  windows,  to  admit  these  volatile  creatures,  with  a 
noble  disregard  to  their  sting — and  the  pale  ringlets  did 
not  seem  to  heed  them  either,  though  the  delicate  shoul- 
ders of  some  of  them  were  bare. 


458  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

All  the  meat,  ragouts,  fricandeaux,  and  roasts,  which 
are  served  round  at  dinner,  seem  to  me  to  be  of  the  same 
meat:  a  black  uncertain  sort  of  viand  do  these  "flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt "  contain.  But  what  the  meat  is  no  one 
knew:  is  it  the  donkey?  The  animal  is  more  plentiful 
than  any  other  in  Cairo. 

After  dinner,  the  ladies  retiring,  some  of  us  take  a 
mixture  of  hot  water,  sugar,  and  pale  French  brandy, 
which  is  said  to  be  deleterious,  but  is  by  no  means  un- 
palatable. One  of  the  Indians  offers  a  bundle  of  Bengal 
cheroots;  and  we  make  acquaintance  with  those  honest 
bearded  white- jacketed  Majors  and  military  Command- 
ers, finding  England  here  in  a  French  hotel  kept  by 
an  Italian,  at  the  city  of  Grand  Cairo,  in  Africa. 

On  retiring  to  bed  you  take  a  towel  with  you  into 
the  sacred  interior,  behind  the  mosquito  curtains.  Then 
your  duty  is,  having  tucked  the  curtains  closely  around, 
to  flap  and  bang  violently  with  this  towel,  right  and  left, 
and  backwards  and  forwards,  until  every  mosquito  shall 
have  been  massacred  that  may  have  taken  refuge  within 
your  muslin  canopy. 

Do  what  you  will,  however,  one  of  them  always  escapes 
the  murder ;  and  as  soon  as  the  candle  is  out  the  miscreant 
begins  his  infernal  droning  and  trumpeting;  descends 
playfully  upon  your  nose  and  face,  and  so  lightly  that 
you  don't  know  that  he  touches  you.  But  that  for  a  week 
afterwards  you  bear  about  marks  of  his  ferocity,  you 
might  take  the  invisible  little  being  to  be  a  creature  of 
fancy— a  mere  singing  in  your  ears. 

This,  as  an  account  of  Cairo,  dear  M ,  you  will 

probably  be  disposed  to  consider  as  incomplete :  the  fact 
is,  I  have  seen  nothing  else  as  yet.  I  have  peered  into 
no  harems.    The  magicians,  proved  to  be  humbugs,  have 


THE  CONQUEROR  WAGHORN   459 

been  bastinadoed  out  of  town.  The  dancing-girls,  those 
lovely  Alme,  of  whom  I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  give  a 
glowing  and  elegant,  though  strictly  moral,  description, 
have  been  whipped  into  Upper  Egypt,  and  as  you  are 
saying  in  your  mind  ....  Well,  it  is7i't  a  good  descrip- 
tion of  Cairo;  you  are  perfectly  right.  It  is  England  in 
Egypt.  I  like  to  see  her  there  with  her  pluck,  enterprise, 
manliness,  bitter  ale,  and  Harvey  sauce.  Wherever  they 
come  they  stay  and  prosper.  From  the  summit  of  yon- 
der Pyramids  forty  centuries  may  look  down  on  them 
if  they  are  minded ;  and  I  say,  those  venerable  daughters 
of  time  ought  to  be  better  pleased  by  the  examination, 
than  by  regarding  the  French  bayonets  and  General 
Bonaparte,  Member  of  the  Institute,  fifty  years  ago, 
running  about  with  sabre  and  pigtail.  Wonders  he  did, 
to  be  sure,  and  then  ran  away,  leaving  Kleber,  to  be 
murdered,  in  the  lurch — a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
spot  where  these  disquisitions  are  written.  But  what 
are  his  wonders  compared  to  Waghorn?  Nap  massacred 
the  Mamelukes  at  the  Pyramids:  Wag  has  conquered 
the  Pyramids  themselves;  dragged  the  unwieldy  struc- 
tures a  month  nearer  England  than  they  were,  and 
brought  the  country  along  with  them.  All  the  trophies 
and  captives  that  ever  were  brought  to  Roman  triumph 
were  not  so  enormous  and  wonderful  as  this.  All  the 
heads  that  Napoleon  ever  caused  to  be  struck  off  (as 
George  Cruikshank  says)  would  not  elevate  him  a  monu- 
ment as  big.  Be  ours  the  trophies  of  peace!  O  my 
country!  O  Waghorn!  H(b  tibi  erunt  artes.  When  I 
go  to  the  Pyramids  I  will  sacrifice  in  your  name,  and 
pour  out  libations  of  bitter  ale  and  Harvey  sauce  in 
your  honour. 

One  of  the  noblest  views  in  the  world  is  to  be  seen  from 


460  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  citadel,  which  we  ascended  to-day.  You  see  the  city- 
stretching  beneath  it,  with  a  thousand  minarets  and 
mosques, — the  great  river  curhng  through  the  green 
plains,  studded  with  innumerable  villages.  The  Pyra- 
mids are  beyond,  brilliantly  distinct;  and  the  lines  and 
fortifications  of  the  height,  and  the  arsenal  lying  below. 
Gazing  down,  the  guide  does  not  fail  to  point  out  the  fa- 
mous JVIameluke  leap,  by  which  one  of  the  corps  escaped 
death,  at  the  time  that  his  Highness  the  Pasha  arranged 
the  general  massacre  of  the  body. 

The  venerable  Patriarch's  harem  is  close  by,  where 
he  received,  with  much  distinction,  some  of  the  members 
of  our  party.  We  were  allowed  to  pass  very  close  to 
the  sacred  precincts,  and  saw  a  comfortable  white  Eu- 
ropean building,  approached  by  flights  of  steps,  and 
flanked  by  pretty  gardens.  Police  and  law-courts  were 
here  also,  as  I  understood;  but  it  was  not  the  time  of 
the  Egyptian  assizes.  It  would  have  been  pleasant, 
otherwise,  to  see  the  chief  cadi  in  his  hall  of  justice;  and 
jDainful,  though  instructive,  to  behold  the  immediate  ap- 
plication of  the  bastinado. 

The  great  lion  of  the  place  is  a  new  mosque  which 
Mehemet  Ali  is  constructing  very  leisurely.  It  is  built 
of  alabaster  of  a  fair  white,  with  a  delicate  blushing 
tinge;  but  the  ornaments  are  European— the  noble,  fan- 
tastic, beautiful  Oriental  art  is  forgotten.  The  old 
mosques  of  the  city,  of  which  I  entered  two,  and  looked 
at  many,  are  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful.  Their 
variety  of  ornament  is  astonishing, — the  diiference  in  the 
shapes  of  the  domes,  the  beautiful  fancies  and  caprices 
in  the  forms  of  the  minarets,  which  violate  the  rules  of 
proportion  with  the  most  happy,  daring  grace,  must 
have  struck  every  architect  who  has  seen  them.    As  you 


THE  MOSQUE  OF  HASSAN  4G1 

go  through  tlie  streets,  these  architectural  beauties  keep 
the  eye  continually  charmed :  now  it  is  a  marble  fountain, 
with  its  arabesque  and  carved  overhanging  roof,  which 
you  can  look  at  with  as  much  pleasure  as  an  antique 
gem,  so  neat  and  brilliant  is  the  execution  of  it;  then, 
you  come  to  the  arched  entrance  to  a  mosque,  which 
shoots  up  like — like  what? — like  the  most  beautiful  pir- 
ouette by  Taglioni,  let  us  say.  This  architecture  is  not 
sublimely  beautiful,  perfect  loveliness  and  calm,  like  that 
which  was  revealed  to  us  at  the  Parthenon  (and  in  com- 
parison of  which  the  Pantheon  and  Colosseum  are  vul- 
gar and  coarse,  mere  broad-shouldered  Titans  before 
ambrosial  Jove)  ;  but  these  fantastic  spires,  and  cupolas, 
and  galleries,  excite,  amuse,  tickle  the  imagination,  so  to 
speak,  and  perpetually  fascinate  the  eye.  There  were 
very  few  believers  in  the  famous  mosque  of  Sultan  Has- 
san when  we  visited  it,  except  the  Moslemitish  beadle, 
who  was  on  the  look-out  for  backsheesh,  just  like  his 
brother  officer  in  an  English  cathedral ;  and  who,  making 
us  put  on  straw  slippers,  so  as  not  to  pollute  the  sacred 
pavement  of  the  place,  conducted  us  through  it. 

It  is  stupendously  light  and  airy ;  the  best  specimens  of 
Norman  art  that  I  have  seen  (and  surely  the  Crusaders 
must  have  carried  home  the  models  of  these  heathenish 
temples  in  their  eyes)  do  not  exceed  its  noble  grace  and 
simplicity.  The  mystics  make  discoveries  at  home,  that 
the  Gothic  architecture  is  Catholicism  carved  in  stone — 
(in  which  case,  and  if  architectural  beauty  is  a  criterion 
or  expression  of  religion,  what  a  dismal  barbarous  creed 
must  that  expressed  by  the  Bethesda  meeting-house  and 
Independent  chapels  be?)  —if,  as  they  would  gravely 
hint,  because  Gothic  architecture  is  beautiful,  Catholi- 
cism is  therefore  lovely  and  right, — why,  Mahometan- 


462  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

ism  must  have  been  right  and  lovely  too  once.  Never  did 
a  creed  possess  temples  more  elegant;  as  elegant  as  the 
Cathedral  at  Rouen,  or  the  Baptistery  at  Pisa. 

But  it  is  changed  now.  There  was  nobody  at  prayers ; 
only  the  official  beadles,  and  the  supernumerary  guides, 
who  came  for  backsheesh.  Faith  hath  degenerated.  Ac- 
cordingly they  can't  build  these  mosques,  or  invent  these 
perfect  forms,  any  more.  Witness  the  tawdry  incom- 
pleteness and  vulgarity  of  the  Pasha's  new  temple,  and 
the  woful  failures  among  the  very  late  edifices  in  Con- 
stantinople ! 

However,  they  still  make  pilgrimages  to  Mecca  in 
great  force.  The  Mosque  of  Hassan  is  hard  by  the 
green  plain  on  which  the  Hag  encamps  before  it  sets 
forth  annualty  on  its  pious  peregrination.  It  was  not 
yet  its  time,  but  I  saw  in  the  bazaars  that  redoubted 
Dervish,  who  is  the  Master  of  the  Hag — the  leader  of 
every  procession,  accompanying  the  sacred  camel;  and  a 
personage  almost  as  much  respected  as  Mr.  O'Connell 
in  Ireland. 

This  fellow  lives  by  alms  (I  mean  the  head  of  the 
Hag).  Winter  and  summer  he  wears  no  clothes  but 
a  thin  and  scanty  white  shirt.  He  wields  a  staff,  and 
stalks  along  scowling  and  barefoot.  His  immense  shock 
of  black  hair  streams  behind  him,  and  his  brown,  brawny 
body  is  curled  over  with  black  hair,  like  a  savage  man. 
This  saint  has  the  largest  harem  in  the  town;  he  is  said 
to  be  enormously  rich  by  the  contributions  he  has  levied ; 
and  is  so  adored  for  his  holiness  by  the  infatuated  folk, 
that  when  he  returns  from  the  Hag  (which  he  does  on 
horseback,  the  chief  MoUahs  going  out  to  meet  him  and 
escort  him  home  in  state  along  the  Ezbekieh  road,)  the 
people  fling  themselves  down  under  the  horse's  feet, 


A  STREET-SCENE  463 

eager  to  be  trampled  upon  and  killed,  and  confident  of 
heaven  if  the  great  Hadji's  horse  will  but  kick  them  into 
it.  Was  it  my  fault  if  I  thought  of  Hadji  Daniel,  and 
the  believers  in  him  ? 

There  was  no  Dervish  of  repute  on  the  plain  when 
I  passed;  only  one  poor,  wild  fellow,  who  was  dancing, 
with  glaring  eyes  and  grizzled  beard,  rather  to  the  con- 
tempt of  the  bystanders,  as  I  thought,  who  by  no  means 
put  coppers  into  his  extended  bowl.  On  this  poor  devil's 
head  there  was  a  poorer  devil  still — a  live  cock,  entirely 
plucked,  but  ornamented  with  some  bits  of  ragged  tape 
and  scarlet  and  tinsel,  the  most  horribly  grotesque  and 
miserable  object  I  ever  saw. 

A  little  way  from  him,  there  was  a  sort  of  play  going 
on — a  clown  and  a  knowing  one,  like  Widdicombe  and 
the  clown  with  us,— the  buiFoon  answering  with  blunder- 
ing responses,  which  made  all  the  audience  shout  with 
laughter;  but  the  only  joke  which  was  translated  to  me 
would  make  you  do  anything  but  laugh,  and  shall  there- 
fore never  be  revealed  by  these  lips.  All  their  humour, 
my  dragoman  tells  me,  is  of  this  questionable  sort;  and 
a  young  Egyptian  gentleman,  son  of  a  Pasha,  whom  I 
subsequently  met  at  Malta,  confirmed  the  statement,  and 
gave  a  detail  of  the  practices  of  private  life  which  was 
anything  but  edifying.  The  great  aim  of  woman,  he 
said,  in  the  much-maligned  Orient,  is  to  administer  to 
the  brutality  of  her  lord;  her  merit  is  in  knowing  how 
to  vary  the  beast's  pleasures.  He  could  give  us  no  idea, 
he  said,  of  the  wit  of  the  Egyptian  women,  and  their 
skill  in  double  entendre;  nor,  I  presume,  did  we  lose 
much  by  our  ignorance.  What  I  would  urge,  humbly, 
however,  is  this— Do  not  let  us  be  led  away  by  German 
writers  and  aesthetics,  Semilassoisms,  Hahnhahnisms,  and 


464  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  like.  The  life  of  the  East  is  a  life  of  brutes.  The 
much-maligned  Orient,  I  am  confident,  has  not  been  ma- 
ligned near  enough ;  for  the  good  reason  that  none  of  us 
can  tell  the  amount  of  horrible  sensuality  practised  there. 

Beyond  the  jack-pudding  rascal  and  his  audience, 
there  was  on  the  green  a  spot,  on  which  was  pointed  out 
to  me  a  mark,  as  of  blood.  That  morning  the  blood 
had  spouted  from  the  neck  of  an  Arnaoot  soldier,  who 
had  been  executed  for  murder.  These  Arnaoots  are  the 
curse  and  terror  of  the  citizens.  Their  camps  are  without 
the  city;  but  they  are  always  brawling,  or  drunken,  or 
murdering  within,  in  spite  of  the  rigid  law  which  is  ap- 
plied to  them,  and  which  brings  one  or  more  of  the 
scoundrels  to  death  almost  every  week. 

Some  of  our  party  had  seen  this  fellow  borne  by  the 
hotel  tlie  day  before,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  soldiers 
who  had  apprehended  him.  The  man  was  still  formid- 
able to  his  score  of  captors ;  his  clothes  had  been  torn  off ; 
his  limbs  were  bound  with  cords ;  but  he  was  struggling 
frantically  to  get  free;  and  my  informant  described  the 
figure  and  appearance  of  the  naked,  bound,  writhing 
savage,  as  quite  a  model  of  beauty. 

Walking  in  the  street,  this  fellow  had  just  before  been 
struck  by  the  looks  of  a  woman  who  was  passing,  and 
laid  hands  on  her.  She  ran  away,  and  he  pursued 
her.  She  ran  into  the  police-barrack,  which  was  luck- 
ily hard  by;  but  the  Arnaoot  was  nothing  daunted, 
and  followed  into  the  midst  of  the  police.  One  of 
them  tried  to  stop  him.  The  Arnaoot  pulled  out  a 
pistol,  and  shot  the  policeman  dead.  He  cut  down  three 
or  four  more  before  he  was  secured.  He  knew  his  inevi- 
table end  must  be  death :  that  he  could  not  seize  upon  the 
woman ;  that  he  could  not  hope  to  resist  half  a  regiment 


A   STREET-SCENE  465 

of  armed  soldiers:  yet  his  instinct  of  lust  and  murder 
was  too  strong;  and  so  he  had  his  head  taken  off  quite 
calmly  this  morning,  many  of  his  comrades  attending 
their  brother's  last  moments.  He  cared  not  the  least 
about  dying;  and  knelt  down  and  had  his  head  off  as 
coolly  as  if  he  were  looking  on  at  the  same  ceremony  per- 
formed on  another. 

When  the  head  was  oif ,  and  the  blood  was  spouting 
on  the  ground,  a  married  woman,  who  had  no  children, 
came  forward  very  eagerly  out  of  the  crowd,  to  smear 
herself  with  it, — the  application  of  criminals'  blood  be- 
ing considered  a  very  favourable  medicine  for  wo- 
men afflicted  with  barrenness,— so  she  indulged  in  this 
remedy. 

But  one  of  the  Arnaoots  standing  near  said,  "  What, 
you  like  blood,  do  you?"  (or  words  to  that  effect). 
"  Let's  see  how  yours  mixes  with  my  comrade's."  And 
thereupon,  taking  out  a  pistol,  he  shot  the  woman  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd  and  the  guards  who  were  attending 
the  execution;  was  seized  of  course  by  the  latter;  and 
no  doubt  to-morrow  morning  will  have  his  head  off  too. 
It  would  be  a  good  chapter  to  write — the  Death  of  the 
Arnaoot — but  I  shan't  go.  Seeing  one  man  hanged  is 
quite  enough  in  the  course  of  a  life.  J'y  ai  He,  as  the 
Frenchman  said  of  hunting. 

These  Arnaoots  are  the  terror  of  the  town.  They 
seized  hold  of  an  Englishman  the  other  day,  and  were 
very  nearly  pistolling  him.  Last  week  one  of  them 
murdered  a  shopkeeper  at  Boulak,  who  refused  to  sell 
him  a  water-melon  at  a  price  which  he,  the  soldier,  fixed 
upon  it.  So,  for  the  matter  of  three-halfpence,  he  killed 
the  shopkeeper;  and  had  his  own  rascally  head  chopped 
off,  universally  regretted  by  his  friends.  Why,  I  wonder, 


466  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

does  not  his  Highness  the  Pasha  invite  the  Arnaoots  to 
a  dejeiine  at  the  Citadel,  as  he  did  the  Mamelukes,  and 
serve  them  up  the  same  sort  of  breakfast  ?  The  walls  are 
considerably  heightened  since  Emin  Bey  and  his  horse 
leapt  them,  and  it  is  probable  that  not  one  of  them  would 
escape. 

This  sort  of  pistol  practice  is  common  enough  here, 
it  would  appear,  and  not  among  the  Arnaoots  merely, 
but  the  higher  orders.  -Thus,  a  short  time  since,  one  of 
his  Highness's  grandsons,  whom  I  shall  call  Bluebeard 
Pasha  (lest  a  revelation  of  the  name  of  the  said  Pasha 
might  interrupt  our  good  relations  with  his  country) 
— one  of  the  young  Pashas  being  rather  backward  in  his 
education,  and  anxious  to  learn  mathematics,  and  the 
elegant  deportment  of  civilized  life,  sent  to  England  for 
a  tutor.  I  have  heard  he  was  a  Cambridge  man,  and 
had  learned  both  algebra  and  politeness  under  the  Rev- 
erend Doctor  Whizzle,  of College. 

One  day  when  Mr.  MacWhirter,  B.A.,  was  walking  in 
Shoubra  gardens,  with  his  Highness  the  young  Blue- 
beard Pasha,  inducting  him  into  the  usages  of  polished 
society,  and  favouring  him  with  reminiscences  of  Trump- 
ington,  there  came  up  a  poor  fellah,  who  flung  himself 
at  the  feet  of  young  Bluebeard,  and  calling  for  justice 
in  a  loud  and  pathetic  voice,  and  holding  out  a  petition, 
besought  his  Highness  to  cast  a  gracious  eye  upon  the 
same,  and  see  that  his  slave  had  justice  done  him. 

Bluebeard  Pasha  was  so  deeply  engaged  and  interested 
by  his  respected  tutor's  conversation,  that  he  told  the 
poor  fellah  to  go  to  the  deuce,  and  resumed  the  discourse 
which  his  ill-timed  outcry  for  justice  had  interrupted. 
But  the  unlucky  wight  of  a  fellah  was  pushed  by  his 
evil  destiny,  and  thought  he  would  make  yet  another 


A  GRACIOUS   PRINCE  467 

application.  So  he  took  a  short  cut  down  one  of  the  gar- 
den lanes,  and  as  the  Prince  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mac- 
Wliirter,  his  tutor,  came  along  once  more  engaged  in 
pleasant  disquisition,  behold  the  fellah  was  once  more 
in  their  way,  kneeling  at  the  august  Bluebeard's  feet, 
yelling  out  for  justice  as  before,  and  thrusting  his  peti- 
tion into  the  royal  face. 

When  the  Prince's  conversation  was  thus  interiiipted 
a  second  time,  his  royal  patience  and  clemency  were  at 
an  end.  "  Man,"  said  he,  "  once  before  I  bade  thee  not 
to  pester  me  wdth  thy  clamour,  and  lo!  you  have  dis- 
obeyed me, — take  the  consequences  of  disobedience  to 
a  Prince,  and  thy  blood  be  upon  thine  own  head."  So 
saying,  he  drew  out  a  pistol  and  blew  out  the  brains  of 
that  fellah,  so  that  he  never  bawled  out  for  justice  any 
more. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  MacWhirter  was  astonished  at  this 
sudden  mode  of  proceeding:  "  Gracious  Prince,"  said  he, 
"we  do  not  shoot  an  undergraduate  at  Cambridge  even 
for  walking  over  a  college  grass-plot. — Let  me  suggest 
to  your  Royal  Highness  that  this  method  of  ridding 
yourself  of  a  poor  devil's  importunities  is  such  as  we 
should  consider  abrupt  and  almost  cruel  in  Europe.  Let 
me  beg  you  to  moderate  your  roj^al  impetuosity  for  the 
future ;  and,  as  your  Highness's  tutor,  entreat  you  to  be 
a  little  less  prodigal  of  your  powder  and  shot." 

"  O  Mollah!  "  said  his  Highness,  here  interrupting  his 
governor's  affectionate  appeal, — "  you  are  good  to  talk 
about  Trumpington  and  the  Pons  Asinorum,  but  if  you 
interfere  with  the  course  of  justice  in  any  way,  or  prevent 
me  from  shooting  any  dog  of  an  Arab  who  snarls  at  my 
heels,  I  have  another  pistol;  and,  by  the  beard  of  the 
Prophet!  a  bullet  for  you  too."    So  saying  he  pulled  out 


468  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

the  weapon,  with  such  a  terrific  and  significant  glance 
at  the  Reverend  Mr.  MacWhirter,  that  that  gentleman 
wished  himself  back  in  his  Combination  Room  again ;  and 
is  by  this  time,  let  us  hope,  safely  housed  there. 

Another  facetious  anecdote,  the  last  of  those  I  had 
from  a  well-informed  gentleman  residing  at  Cairo, 
whose  name  (as  many  copies  of  this  book  that  is  to  be 
will  be  in  the  circulating  libraries  there)  I  cannot,  for 
obvious  reasons,  mention.  The  revenues  of  the  country 
come  into  the  august  treasury  through  the  means  of  the 
farmers,  to  whom  the  districts  are  let  out,  and  who  are 
personally  answerable  for  their  quota  of  the  taxation. 
This  practice  involves  an  intolerable  deal  of  tyranny  and 
extortion  on  the  part  of  those  engaged  to  levy  the  taxes, 
and  creates  a  corresponding  duplicity  among  the  fellahs, 
who  are  not  only  wretchedly  poor  among  themselves,  but 
whose  object  is  to  appear  still  more  poor,  and  guard  their 
money  from  their  rapacious  overseers.  Thus  the  Orient 
is  much  maligned;  but  everybody  cheats  there:  that  is 
a  melancholy  fact.  The  Pasha  robs  and  cheats  the  mer- 
chants; knows  that  the  overseer  robs  him,  and  bides  his 
time,  until  he  makes  him  disgorge  by  the  application  of 
the  tremendous  bastinado ;  the  overseer  robs  and  squeezes 
the  labourer;  and  the  poverty-stricken  devil  cheats  and 
robs  in  return ;  and  so  the  government  moves  in  a  happy 
cycle  of  roguery. 

Deputations  from  the  fellahs  and  peasants  come  per- 
petually before  the  augiLst  presence,  to  complain  of  the 
cruelty  and  exactions  of  the  chiefs  set  over  them:  but, 
as  it  is  known  that  the  Arab  never  will  pay  without  the 
bastinado,  their  complaints,  for  the  most  part,  meet  with 
but  little  attention.  His  Highness's  treasury  must  be 
filled,  and  his  officers  sujDported  in  their  authority. 


THE    "RINT"   IN   EGYPT  469 

However,  there  was  one  village,  of  which  the  com- 
plaints were  so  pathetic,  and  the  inliabitants  so  supremely 
wretched,  that  the  royal  indignation  was  moved  at  their 
story,  and  the  chief  of  the  village.  Skinflint  Beg,  was 
called  to  give  an  account  of  himself  at  Cairo. 

When  he  came  before  the  presence,  Mehemet  Ali  re- 
proached him  with  his  horrible  cruelty  and  exactions; 
asked  him  how  he  dared  to  treat  his  faithful  and  beloved 
subjects  in  this  way,  and  threatened  him  with  disgrace, 
and  the  utter  confiscation  of  his  property,  for  thus  hav- 
ing reduced  a  district  to  ruin. 

"  Your  Highness  says  I  have  reduced  these  fellahs  to 
ruin,"  said  Skinflint  Beg;  "  what  is  the  best  way  to  con- 
found my  enemies,  and  to  show  you  the  falsehood  of 
their  accusations  that  I  have  ruined  them?— To  bring 
more  money  from  them.  If  I  bring  you  five  hundred 
purses  from  my  village,  you  will  acknowledge  that  my 
people  are  not  ruined  yet? " 

The  heart  of  the  Pasha  was  touched:  "  I  will  have  no 
more  bastinadoing,  O  Skinflint  Beg;  you  have  tortured 
these  poor  people  so  much,  and  have  got  so  little  from 
them,  that  my  royal  heart  relents  for  the  present,  and  I 
will  have  them  suffer  no  farther." 

"  Give  me  free  leave— give  me  your  Highness's  gra- 
cious pardon,  and  I  will  bring  the  five  hundred  purses  as 
surely  as  my  name  is  Skinflint  Beg.  I  demand  only  the 
time  to  go  home,  the  time  to  return,  and  a  few  days  to 
stay,  and  I  will  come  back  as  honestly  as  Regulus  Pasha 
did  to  the  Carthaginians, — I  will  come  back  and  make 
my  face  white  before  your  Highness." 

Skinflint  Beg's  prayer  for  a  reprieve  was  granted,  and 
he  returned  to  his  village,  where  he  forthwith  called  the 
elders  together.     "  O  friends,"  he  said,  "  complaints  of 


470  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

our  poverty  and  misery  have  reached  the  royal  throne, 
and  the  benevolent  heart  of  the  sovereign  has  been  melted 
by  the  words  that  have  been  poured  into  his  ears.  '  My 
heart  yearns  towards  my  people  of  El  Muddee,'  he  says ; 
'  I  have  thought  how  to  relieve  their  miseries.  Near  them 
lies  the  fruitful  land  of  El  Guanee.  It  is  rich  in  maize 
and  cotton,  in  sesame  and  barley;  it  is  worth  a  thousand 
purses ;  but  I  will  let  it  to  my  children  for  seven  hundred, 
and  I  will  give  over  the  rest  of  the  profit  to  them,  as  an 
alleviation  for  their  affliction.'  " 

The  elders  of  El  Muddee  knew  the  great  value  and 
fertility  of  the  lands  of  Guanee,  biit  they  doubted  the  sin- 
cerity of  their  governor,  who,  however,  dispelled  their 
fears,  and  adroitly  quickened  their  eagerness  to  close 
with  the  proffered  bargain.  "  I  will  myself  advance  two 
hundred  and  fifty  purses,"  he  said;  "  do  you  take  counsel 
among  yourselves,  and  subscribe  the  other  five  hundred ; 
and  when  the  sum  is  ready,  a  deputation  of  you  shall 
carry  it  to  Cairo,  and  I  will  come  with  my  share ;  and  we 
will  lay  the  whole  at  the  feet  of  his  Highness."  So  the 
grey-bearded  ones  of  the  village  advised  with  one  an- 
other ;  and  those  who  had  been  inaccessible  to  bastinadoes, 
somehow  found  money  at  the  calling  of  interest;  and 
the  Sheikh,  and  they,  and  the  five  hundred  purses,  set 
off  on  the  road  to  the  capital. 

When  they  arrived.  Skinflint  Beg  and  the  elders  of 
El  Muddee  sought  admission  to  the  royal  throne,  and 
there  laid  down  their  purses.  "  Here  is  your  humble 
servant's  contribution,"  said  Skinflint,  producing  his 
share ;  "  and  here  is  the  ofl'ering  of  your  loyal  village  of 
El  Muddee.  Did  I  not  before  say  that  enemies  and  de- 
ceivers had  maligned  me  before  the  august  presence,  pre- 
tending that  not  a  piastre  was  left  in  my  village,  and  that 
my  extortion  had  entirely  denuded  the  peasantry?    See! 


THE    "RINT"    IN    EGYPT  471 

here  is  proof  that  there  is  plenty  of  money  still  in  El 
Muddee:  in  twelve  hours  the  elders  have  subscribed 
five  hundred  purses,  and  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  their 
lord." 

Instead  of  the  bastinado,  Skinflint  Beg  was  instantly 
rewarded  with  the  royal  favour,  and  the  former  mark 
of  attention  was  bestowed  upon  the  fellahs  who  had 
maligned  him ;  Skinflint  Beg  was  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  Skinflint  Bey;  and  his  manner  of  extracting  money 
from  his  people  may  be  studied  with  admiration  in  a  part 
of  the  United  Kingdom.^ 

At  the  time  of  the  Syrian  quarrel,  and  when,  appre- 
hending some  general  rupture  with  England,  the  Pasha 
wished  to  raise  the  spirit  of  the  fellahs,  and  relever  la 
morale  nationale,  he  actually  made  one  of  the  astonished 
Arabs  a  colonel.  He  degraded  him  three  days  after 
peace  was  concluded.  The  young  Egyptian  colonel,  who 
told  me  this,  laughed  and  enjoyed  the  joke  with  the 
utmost  gusto.  "  Is  it  not  a  shame,"  he  said,  "  to  make 
me  a  colonel  at  three-and-twenty ;  I,  who  have  no  par- 
ticular merit,  and  have  never  seen  any  service?  "  Death 
has  since  stopped  the  modest  and  good-natured  young 

fellow's  further  promotion.    The  death  of Bey  was 

announced  in  the  French  papers  a  few  weeks  back. 

My  above  kind-hearted  and  agreeable  young  inform- 
ant used  to  discourse,  in  our  evenings  in  the  Lazaretto 
at  Malta,  very  eloquently  about  the  beauty  of  his  wife, 
whom  he  had  left  behind  him  at  Cairo — her  brown  hair, 
her  brilliant  complexion,  and  her  blue  eyes.  It  is  this 
Circassian  blood,  I  suppose,  to  which  the  Turkish  aristoc- 
racy that  governs  Egypt  must  be  indebted  for  the  fair- 
ness of  their  skin.     Ibrahim  Pasha,  riding  by  in  his 

1  At  Derrynane  Beg,  for  instance. 


472  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

barouche,  looked  like  a  bluff,  jolly-faced  English  dra- 
goon officer,  with  a  grey  moustache  and  red  cheeks,  such 
as  you  might  see  on  a  field-day  at  Maidstone.  All  the 
numerous  officials  riding  through  the  town  were  quite  as 
fair  as  Europeans.  We  made  acquaintance  with  one 
dignitary,  a  very  jovial  and  fat  Pasha,  the  propri- 
etor of  the  inn,  I  believe,  who  was  continually  loung- 
ing about  the  Ezbekieh  garden,  and  who,  but  for  a 
slight  Jewish  cast  of  countenance,  might  have  passed 
any  day  for  a  Frenchman.  The  ladies  whom  we  saw 
were  equally  fair;  that  is,  the  very  slight  particles 
of  the  persons  of  ladies  which  our  lucky  eyes  were 
permitted  to  gaze  on.  These  lovely  creatures  go  through 
the  town  by  parties  of  three  or  four,  mounted  on  donkeys, 
and  attended  by  slaves  holding  on  at  the  crupper,  to  re- 
ceive the  lovely  riders  lest  they  should  fall,  and  shouting 
out  shrill  cries  of  "  Schmaalek,"  "  Ameenek  "  (or  how- 
ever else  these  words  may  be  pronounced) ,  and  flogging 
off  the  people  right  and  left  with  the  buffalo-thong. 
But  the  dear  creatures  are  even  more  closely  disguised 
than  at  Constantinople:  their  bodies  are  enveloped  with 
a  large  black  silk  hood,  like  a  cab-head;  the  fashion 
seemed  to  be  to  spread  their  arms  out,  and  give  this  cov- 
ering all  the  amplitude  of  which  it  was  capable,  as  they 
leered  and  ogled  you  from  under  their  black  masks  with 
their  big  rolling  eyes. 

Everybody  has  big  rolling  eyes  here  (unless,  to  be 
sure,  they  lose  one  of  ophthalmia).  The  Arab  women 
are  some  of  the  noblest  figures  I  have  ever  seen.  The 
habit  of  carrying  jars  on  the  head  always  gives  the  figure 
grace  and  motion;  and  the  dress  the  women  wear  cer- 
tainly displays  it  to  full  advantage.  I  have  brought  a 
complete  one  home  with  me,  at  the  service  of  any  lady 


SUBJECTS    FOR    PAINTERS  473 

for  a  masqued  ball.  It  consists  of  a  coarse  blue  dress 
of  calico,  opened  in  front,  and  fastened  with  a  horn  but- 
ton. Three  yards  of  blue  stuff  for  a  veil ;  on  the  top  of 
the  veil  a  jar  to  be  balanced  on  the  head ;  and  a  little  black 
strip  of  silk  to  fall  over  the  nose,  and  leave  the  beautiful 
eyes  full  liberty  to  roll  and  roam.  But  such  a  costume, 
not  aided  by  any  stays  or  any  other  article  of  dress  what- 
ever, can  be  worn  only  by  a  verj^  good  figure.  I  suspect 
it  won't  be  borrowed  for  many  balls  next  season. 

The  men,  a  tall,  handsome,  noble  race,  are  treated  like 
dogs.  I  shall  never  forget  riding  through  the  crowded 
bazaars,  my  interpreter,  or  laquais-de-place,  ahead  of  me 
to  clear  the  way — when  he  took  his  whip  and  struck  it 
over  the  shoulders  of  a  man  who  could  not  or  would  not 
make  way! 

The  man  turned  round — an  old,  venerable,  handsome 
face,  with  awfully  sad  eyes,  and  a  beard  long  and  quite 
grey.  He  did  not  make  the  least  complaint,  but  slunk 
out  of  the  way,  piteously  shaking  his  shoulder.  The 
sight  of  that  indignitj^  gave  me  a  sickening  feeling  of 
disgust.  I  shouted  out  to  the  cursed  lackey  to  hold  his 
hand,  and  forbade  him  ever  in  my  presence  to  strike  old 
or  young  more;  but  everybody  is  doing  it.  The  whip 
is  in  everybody's  hands:  the  Pasha's  running  footman, 
as  he  goes  bustling  through  the  bazaar;  the  doctor's  at- 
tendant, as  he  soberly  threads  the  crowd  on  his  mare ;  the 
negro  slave,  who  is  riding  by  himself,  the  most  insolent 
of  all,  strikes  and  slashes  about  without  mercy,  and  you 
never  hear  a  single  complaint. 

How  to  describe  the  beauty  of  the  streets  to  you! — the 
fantastic  splendour ;  the  variety  of  the  houses,  and  arch- 
ways, and  hanging  roofs,  and  balconies,  and  porches; 
the  delightful  accidents  of  light  and  shade  Avhich  chequer 


474  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

them;  the  noise,  the  bustle,  the  brilliancy  of  the  crowd; 
the  interminable  vast  bazaars  with  their  barbaric  splen- 
dour! There  is  a  fortune  to  be  made  for  painters  in 
Cairo,  and  materials  for  a  whole  Academy  of  them.  I 
never  saw  such  a  variety  of  architecture,  of  life,  of  pic- 
turesqueness,  of  brilliant  colour,  and  light  and  shade. 
There  is  a  picture  in  every  street,  and  at  every  bazaar 
stall.  Some  of  these  our  celebrated  water-colour  painter, 
Mr.  Lewis,  has  produced  with  admirable  truth  and  ex- 
ceeding minuteness  and  beauty ;  but  there  is  room  for  a 
hundred  to  follow  him;  and  should  any  artist  (by  some 
rare  occurrence)  read  this,  who  has  leisure,  and  wants  to 
break  new  ground,  let  him  take  heart,  and  try  a  winter 
in  Cairo,  where  there  is  the  finest  climate  and  the  best 
subjects  for  his  pencil. 

A  series  of  studies  of  negroes  alone  would  form  a  pic- 
ture-book, delightfully  grotesque.  Mounting  my  donkey 
to-day,  I  took  a  ride  to  the  desolate,  noble  old  buildings 
outside  the  city,  known  as  the  Tombs  of  the  Caliphs. 
Every  one  of  these  edifices,  with  their  domes,  and  courts, 
and  minarets,  is  strange  and  beautiful.  In  one  of  them 
there  was  an  encampment  of  negro  slaves  newly  arrived : 
some  scores  of  them  w^ere  huddled  against  the  sunny 
wall;  two  or  three  of  their  masters  lounged  about  the 
court,  or  lay  smoking  upon  carpets.  There  was  one  of 
these  fellows,  a  straight-nosed,  ebony-faced  Abyssinian, 
with  an  expression  of  such  sinister  good-humour  in  his 
handsome  face  as  would  form  a  perfect  type  of  villainy. 
He  sat  leering  at  me,  over  his  carpet,  as  I  endeavoured  to 
get  a  sketch  of  that  incarnate  rascality.  "  Give  me  some 
money,"  said  the  fellow.  "  I  know  what  you  are  about. 
You  will  sell  my  picture  for  money  when  you  get  back 
to  Europe;  let  me  have  some  of  it  now!  "  But  the  very 
rude  and  humble  designer  was  quite  unequal  to  depict 


SUBJECTS    FOR   PAINTERS 


475 


such  a  consummation  and  perfection  of  roguery ;  so  flung 
him  a  cigar,  which  he  began  to  smoke,  grinning  at  the 
giver.  I  requested  the  interpreter  to  inform  him,  by  way 
of  assurance  of  my  disinterestedness,  that  his  face  was  a 
great  deal  too  ugly  to  be  popular  in  Europe,  and  that 
was  the  particular  reason  why  I  had  selected  it. 

Then  one  of  his  companions  got  up  and  showed  us 
his  black  cattle.  The  male  slaves  were  chiefly  lads,  and 
the  women  young,  well  formed,  and  abominably  hideous. 
The  dealer  pulled  her  blanket  off  one  of  them  and  bade 
her  stand  up,  which  she  did,  with  a  great  deal  of  shudder- 
ing modesty.  She  was  coal  black,  her  lips  were  the  size 
of  sausages,  her  eyes  large  and  good-humoured ;  the  hair 
or  wool  on  this  young  person's  head  was  curled  and 
greased  into  a  thousand  filthj^  little  ringlets.  She  was 
evidently  the  beauty  of  the  flock. 

They  are  not  unhappy;  they  look  to  being  bought,  as 
many  a  spinster  looks  to  an  establishment  in  England ; 
once  in  a  family  they  are  kindly  treated  and  well  clothed, 
and  fatten,  and  are  the  merriest  people  of  the  whole 
community.  These  were  of  a  much  more  savage  sort 
than  the  slaves  I  had  seen  in  the  horrible  market  at  Con- 
stantinople, where  I  recollect  the  following  young 
creature — 


"S^^ 


^    \ 


470  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

(indeed  it  is  a  very  fair  likeness  of  her)  whilst  I  was 
looking  at  her  and  forming  pathetic  conjectures  regard- 
ing her  fate — smiling  very  good-humoui-edly,  and  bid- 
ding the  interpreter  ask  me  to  buy  her  for  twenty 
pounds. 

From  these  Tombs  of  the  Caliphs  the  Desert  is  before 
you.  It  comes  up  to  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  stops  at 
some  gardens  which  spring  up  all  of  a  sudden  at  its  edge. 
You  can  see  the  first  Station-house  on  the  Suez  Road; 
and  so  from  distance  point  to  point,  could  ride  thither 
alone  without  a  guide. 

Asinus  trotted  gallantly  into  this  desert  for  the  space 
of  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  There  we  were  (taking  care  to 
keep  our  backs  to  the  city  walls) ,  in  the  real  actual  des- 
ert: mounds  upon  mounds  of  sand,  stretching  away  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  see,  until  the  dreary  prospect  fades 
away  in  the  yellow  horizon!  I  had  formed  a  finer  idea 
of  it  out  of  "  Eothen."  Perhaps  in  a  simoom  it  may  look 
more  awful.  The  only  adventure  that  befell  in  this  ro- 
mantic place  was  that  asinus's  legs  went  deep  into  a 
hole :  whereupon  his  rider  went  over  his  head,  and  bit  the 
sand,  and  measured  his  length  there ;  and  upon  this  hint 
rose  up,  and  rode  home  again.  No  doubt  one  should 
have  gone  out  for  a  couple  of  days'  march — as  it  was,  the 
desert  did  not  seem  to  me  sublime,  only  uncomfortable. 

Very  soon  after  this  perilous  adventure  the  sun  like- 
wise dipped  into  the  sand  (but  not  to  rise  therefrom  so 
quickly  as  I  had  done)  ;  and  I  saw  this  daily  phenomenon 
of  sunset  with  pleasure,  for  I  was  engaged  at  that  hour 

to  dine  with  our  old  friend  J ,  who  has  established 

himself  here  in  the  most  complete  Oriental  fashion. 

You  remember  J ,  and  what  a  dandy  he  was,  the 

faultlessness  of  his  boots  and  cravats,  the  brilliancy  of 


A   HYDE    PARK   MOSLEM  477 

his  waistcoats  and  kid-gloves ;  we  have  seen  his  splendour 
in  Regent  Street,  in  the  Tuileries,  or  on  the  Toledo.  My 
first  object  on  arriving  here  was  to  find  out  his  house, 
which  he  has  taken  far  away  from  the  haunts  of  Euro- 
pean civilization,  in  the  Arab  quarter.  It  is  situated  in 
a  cool,  shady,  narrow  alley;  so  narrow,  that  it  was  with 
great  difficulty — his  Highness  Ibrahim  Pasha  happen- 
ing to  pass  at  the  same  moment— that  my  little  proces- 
sion of  two  donkeys,  mounted  by  self  and  valet-de-place, 
with  the  two  donkey-boys  our  attendants,  could  range 
ourselves  along  the  wall,  and  leave  room  for  the  august 
cavalcade.  His  Highness  having  rushed  on  (with  an  af- 
fable and  good-humoured  salute  to  our  imposing  party ) , 
we  made  J.'s  quarters;  and,  in  the  first  place,  entered  a 
broad  covered  court  or  porch,  where  a  swarthy,  tawny 
attendant,  dressed  in  blue,  with  white  turban,  keeps  a 
perpetual  watch.  Servants  in  the  East  lie  about  all  the 
doors,  it  appears;  and  you  clap  your  hands,  as  they  do 
in  the  dear  old  "Arabian  Nights,"  to  summon  them. 

This  servant  disappeared  through  a  narrow  wicket, 
which  he  closed  after  him ;  and  went  into  the  inner  cham- 
bers to  ask  if  his  lord  would  receive  us.  He  came  back 
presently,  and  rising  up  from  my  donkey,  I  confided 
him  to  his  attendant,  (lads  more  sharp,  arch,  and  wicked 
than  these  donkey-boys  don't  walk  the  pave  of  Paris  or 
London,)  and  passed  the  mysterious  outer  door. 

First  we  came  into  a  broad  open  court,  with  a  covered 
gallery  running  along  one  side  of  it.  A  camel  was  re- 
clining on  the  grass  there;  near  him  was  a  gazelle,  to 
glad  J.  with  his  dark  blue  eye;  and  a  numerous  brood 
of  hens  and  chickens,  who  furnish  his  liberal  table.  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  covered  gallery  rose  up  the  walls 
of   his    long,    queer,    many-windowed,    many-galleried 


478  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

house.  There  were  wooden  lattices  to  those  arched  win- 
dows, through  the  diamonds  of  one  of  which  I  saw  two 
of  the  most  beautiful,  enormous,  ogling,  black  eyes  in 
the  world,  looking  down  upon  the  interesting  stranger. 
Pigeons  were  flapping,  and  hopping,  and  fluttering. 


and  cooing  about.  Happy  pigeons,  you  are,  no  doubt, 
fed  with  crumbs  from  the  henne-tipped  fingers  of  Zu- 
leika!  All  this  court,  cheerful  in  the  sunshine,  cheerful 
with  the  astonishing  brilliancy  of  the  eyes  peering  out 
from  the  lattice  bars,  was  as  mouldy,  ancient,  and  ruin- 
ous—as any  gentleman's  house  in  Ireland,  let  us  say. 
The  paint  was  peeling  ofl*  the  rickety  old  carved  gal- 
leries; the  arabesques  over  the  windows  were  chipped 
and  worn;— the  ancientness  of  the  place  rendered  it 
doubly  picturesque.  I  have  detained  you  a  long  time 
in  the  outer  court.  Why  the  deuce  was  Zuleika  there, 
wath  the  beautiful  black  eyes! 

Hence  we  passed  into  a  large  apartment,  where  there 


A   HYDE    PARK   MOSLEM  479 

was  a  fountain;  and  another  domestic  made  his  appear- 
ance, taking  me  in  charge,  and  reheving  the  tawny  porter 
at  the  gate.  This  fellow  was  clad  in  blue  too,  with  a 
red  sash  and  a  grey  beard.  He  conducted  me  into  a 
great  hall,  where  there  was  a  great,  large  Saracenic  oriel 
window.  He  seated  me  on  a  divan;  and  stalking  oiF, 
for  a  moment,  retm'ned  with  a  long  pipe  and  a  brass 
chafing-dish :  he  blew  the  coal  for  the  pipe,  which  he  mo- 
tioned me  to  smoke,  and  left  me  there  with  a  respectful 
bow.  This  delay,  this  mystery  of  servants,  that  outer 
court  with  the  camels,  gazelles,  and  other  beautiful-eyed 
things,  affected  me  prodigiously  all  the  time  he  was 
staying  away;  and  while  I  was  examining  the  strange 
apartment  and  its  contents,  my  respect  and  awe  for  the 
owner  increased  vastly. 

As  you  will  be  glad  to  know  how  an  Oriental  noble- 
man (such  as  J.  undoubtedly  is)  is  lodged  and  gar- 
nished, let  me  describe  the  contents  of  this  hall  of 
audience.  It  is  about  forty  feet  long,  and  eighteen  or 
twenty  high.  All  the  ceiling  is  carved,  gilt,  painted  and 
embroidered  with  arabesques,  and  choice  sentences  of 
Eastern  writing.  Some  Mameluke  Aga,or  Bey,  whom 
Mehemet  Ali  invited  to  breakfast  and  massacred,  was 
the  proprietor  of  this  mansion  once :  it  has  grown  dingier, 
but,  perhaps,  handsomer,  since  his  time.  Opposite  the 
divan  is  a  great  bay-window,  with  a  divan  likewise  round 
the  niche.  It  looks  out  upon  a  garden  about  the  size  of 
Fountain  Court,  Temple ;  surrounded  by  the  tall  houses 
of  the  quarter.  The  garden  is  full  of  green.  A  great 
palm-tree  springs  up  in  the  midst,  with  plentiful  shrub- 
beries, and  a  talking  fountain.  The  room  beside  the 
divan  is  furnished  with  one  deal  table,  value  five  shil- 
lings; four  wooden  chairs,  value  six  shillings;  and  a 


480  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

couple  of  mats  and  carpets.  The  tables  and  chairs 
are  luxuries  imported  from  Europe.  The  regular  Ori- 
ental dinner  is  put  upon  copper  trays,  which  are  laid 

upon  low  stools.    Hence  J EfFendi's  house  may  be 

said  to  be  much  more  sumptuously  furnished  than  those 
of  the  Beys  and  Agas  his  neighbours. 

When  these  things  had   been  examined  at  leisure, 

J appeared.      Could   it   be   the   exquisite   of   the 

"  Europa  "  and  the  "  Trois  Freres?  "  A  man— in  a  long 
yellow  gown,  with  a  long  beard  somewhat  tinged  with 
grey,  with  his  head  shaved,  and  wearing  on  it  first  a 
white  wadded  cotton  nightcap,  second,  a  red  tarboosh 
— made  his  appearance  and  welcomed  me  cordially.  It 
was  some  time,  as  the  Americans  say,  before  I  could 
"  realise  "  the  semillant  J.  of  old  times. 

He  shuffled  off  his  outer  slippers  before  he  curled  up 
on  the  divan  beside  me.  He  clapped  his  hands,  and  lan- 
guidly called  "  IMustapha."  Mustapha  came  with  more 
lights,  pipes,  and  coffee;  and  then  we  fell  to  talking 
about  London,  and  I  gave  him  the  last  news  of  the  com- 
rades in  that  dear  city.  As  we  talked,  his  Oriental  cool- 
ness and  languor  gave  way  to  British  cordiality ;  he  was 
the  most  amusing  companion  of  the club  once  more. 

He  has  adapted  himself  outwardly,  however,  to  the 
Oriental  life.  When  he  goes  abroad  he  rides  a  grey 
horse  with  red  housings,  and  has  two  servants  to  walk 
beside  him.  He  wears  a  very  handsome,  grave  costume 
of  dark  blue,  consisting  of  an  embroidered  jacket  and 
gaiters,  and  a  pair  of  trousers,  which  would  make  a  set 
of  dresses  for  an  English  family.  His  beard  curls  nobly 
over  his  chest,  his  Damascus  scimitar  on  his  thigh.  His 
red  cap  gives  him  a  venerable  and  Bey-like  appearance. 
There  is  no  gewgaw  or  parade  about  him,  as  in  some  of 


AN  EASTERN  ACQUAINTANCE       481 

3^our  dandified  young  Agas.  I  should  say  that  he  is  a 
Major-General  of  Engineers,  or  a  grave  officer  of  State. 
We  and  the  Turkified  European,  who  found  us  at  din- 
ner, sat  smoking  in  solemn  divan. 


His  dinners  were  excellent;  they  were  cooked  by  a 
regular  Egyptian  female  cook.  We  had  delicate  cu- 
cumbers stuffed  with  forced-meats;  yellow  smoking 
pilaffs,  the  pride  of  the  Oriental  cuisine ;  kid  and  fowls  a 
I'Aboukir  and  a  la  Pyramide ;  a  number  of  little  savoury 
plates  of  legumes  of  the  vegetable-marrow  sort:  kibobs 
with  an  excellent  sauce  of  plums  and  piquant  herbs.  We 
ended  the  repast  with  ruby  pomegranates,  pulled  to 
pieces,  deliciously  cool  and  pleasant.  For  the  meats,  we 
certainly  ate  them  with  the  Infidel  knife  and  fork;  but 
for  the  fruit,  we  put  our  hands  into  the  dish  and  flicked 
them  into  our  mouths  in  what  cannot  but  be  the  true 
Oriental  manner.  I  asked  for  lamb  and  pistachio-nuts, 
and  cream-tarts  aii  poivre;  but  J.'s  cook  did  not  furnish 


482  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

us  with  either  of  those  historic  dishes.  And  for  drink, 
we  had  Avater  freshened  in  the  porous  httle  pots  of  grey- 
clay,  at  whose  spout  every  traveller  in  the  East  has 
sucked  delighted.  Also  it  must  be  confessed,  we  drank 
certain  sherbets,  prepared  by  the  two  great  rivals,  Hadji 
Hodson  and  Bass  Bey— the  bitterest  and  most  delicious 
of  draughts!  O  divine  Hodson!  a  camel's  load  of  thy 
beer  came  from  Beyrout  to  Jerusalem  while  we  were 
there.  How  shall  I  ever  forget  the  joy  inspired  by  one 
of  those  foaming  cool  flasks  ? 

We  don't  know  the  luxury  of  thirst  in  English  climes. 
Sedentary  men  in  cities  at  least  have  seldom  ascertained 
it ;  but  when  they  travel,  our  countiymen  guard  against 
it  well.  The  road  between  Cairo  and  Suez  is  jonche  with 
soda-water  corks.  Tom  Thumb  and  his  brothers  might 
track  their  way  across  the  desert  by  those  landmarks. 

Cairo  is  magnificently  picturesque;  it  is  fine  to  have 
palm-trees  in  your  gardens,  and  ride  about  on  a  camel; 
but,  after  all,  I  was  anxious  to  know  what  were  the  par- 
ticular excitements  of  Eastern  life,  which  detained  J., 
who  is  a  town-bred  man,  from  his  natural  pleasures  and 
occupations  in  London ;  where  his  family  don't  hear  from 
him,  where  his  room  is  still  kept  ready  at  home,  and  his 
name  is  on  the  list  of  his  club ;  and  where  his  neglected 
sisters  tremble  to  think  that  their  Frederick  is  going 
about  with  a  great  beard  and  a  crooked  sword,  dressed  up 
like  an  odious  Turk.  In  a  "  lark  "  such  a  costume  may 
be  very  well ;  but  home,  London,  a  razor,  your  sister  to 
make  tea,  a  pair  of  moderate  Christian  breeches  in  lieu 
of  those  enormous  Turkish  shulwars,  are  vastly  more 
convenient  in  the  long  run.  What  was  it  that  kept  him 
away  from  these  decent  and  accustomed  delights? 

It  couldn't  be  the  black  eyes  in  the  balcony— upon  his 


SKETCH    ON    THE    PYRAMID        483 

honour  she  was  only  the  black  cook,  who  has  done  the 
pilaff,  and  stuffed  the  cucumbers.  No,  it  was  an  indul- 
gence of  laziness  such  as  Europeans,  Englishmen  at 
least,  don't  know  how  to  enjoy.  Here  he  lives  like  a 
languid  Lotus-eater — a  dreamy,  hazy,  lazy,  tobaccofied 
life.  He  was  away  from  evening-parties,  he  said;  he 
needn't  wear  white  kid-gloves,  or  starched  neckcloths, 
or  read  a  newspaper.  And  even  this  life  at  Cairo  was 
too  civilized  for  him;  Englishmen  passed  through;  old 
acquaintances  would  call:  the  great  pleasure  of  plea- 
sures was  life  in  the  desert,— under  the  tents,  with  still 
more  nothing  to  do  than  in  Cairo;  now  smoking,  now 
cantering  on  Arabs,  and  no  crowd  to  jostle  you; 
solemn  contemplations  of  the  stars  at  night,  as  the 
camels  were  picketed,  and  the  fii-es  and  the  pipes  were 
lighted. 

The  night-scene  in  the  city  is  very  striking  for  its 
vastness  and  loneliness.  Everybody  has  gone  to  rest 
long  before  ten  o'clock.  There  are  no  lights  in  the  enor- 
mous buildings ;  only  the  stars  blazing  above,  with  their 
astonishing  brilliancy,  in  the  blue,  peaceful  sky.  Your 
guides  carry  a  couple  of  little  lanterns,  which  redouble 
the  darkness  in  the  solitary,  echoing  street.  Mysterious 
people  are  curled  up  and  sleeping  in  the  porches.  A 
patrol  of  soldiers  passes,  and  hails  you.  There  is  a  light 
yet  in  one  mosque,  where  some  devotees  are  at  prayers  all 
night ;  and  you  hear  the  queerest  nasal  music  proceeding 
from  those  pious  believers.  As  you  pass  the  mad-house, 
there  is  one  poor  fellow  still  talking  to  the  moon — no 
sleep  for  him.  He  howls  and  sings  there  all  the  night 
— quite  cheerfully,  however.  He  has  not  lost  his  vanity 
with  his  reason ;  he  is  a  Prince  in  spite  of  the  bars  and  the 
straw. 


484  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

What  to  say  about  those  famous  edifices,  which  has  not 
been  better  said  elsewhere? — but  you  will  not  believe  that 
we  visited  them,  unless  I  bring  some  token  from  them. 
Here  is  one:— 


That  white-capped  lad  skipped  up  the  stones  with  a 
jug  of  water  in  his  hand,  to  refresh  weary  climbers;  and, 
squatting  himself  down  on  the  summit,  was  designed 
as  you  see.  The  vast,  flat  landscape  stretches  behind 
him ;  the  great  winding  river ;  the  purple  city,  with  forts, 
and  domes,  and  spires ;  the  green  fields,  and  palm-groves, 
and  speckled  villages ;  the  plains  still  covered  with  shin- 
ing inundations — the  landscape  stretches  far,  far  away, 
until  it  is  lost  and  mingled  in  the  golden  horizon.  It  is 
poor  work  this  landscape-painting  in  print.  Shelley's 
two  sonnets  are  the  best  views  that  I  know  of  the  Pyra- 
mids— better  than  the  reality;  for  a  man  may  lay  down 
the  book,  and  in  quiet  fancy  conjure  up  a  picture  out 
of  these  magnificent  words,  which  shan't  be  disturbed  by 
any  pettinesses  or  mean  realities, — such  as  the  swarms 


PIGMIES  AND  PYRAMIDS  485 

of  howling  beggars,  who  jostle  you  about  the  actual 
place,  and  scream  in  your  ears  incessantly,  and  hang  on 
your  skirts,  and  bawl  for  money. 

The  ride  to  the  Pyramids  is  one  of  the  pleasantest 
possible.  In  the  fall  of  the  year,  though  the  sky  is  al- 
most cloudless  above  you,  the  sun  is  not  too  hot  to  bear ; 
and  the  landscape,  refreshed  by  the  subsiding  inunda- 
tions, delightfully  green  and  cheerful.  We  made  up  a 
party  of  some  half-dozen  from  the  hotel,  a  lady  (the 
kind  soda-water  provider,  for  whose  hospitality  the  most 
grateful  compliments  are  hereby  offered)  being  of  the 
company,  bent  like  the  rest  upon  going  to  the  summit 
of  Cheops.  Those  who  were  cautious  and  wise,  took 
a  brace  of  donkeys.  At  least  five  times  during  the 
route  did  my  animals  fall  with  me,  causing  me  to  re- 
peat the  Desert  experiment  over  again,  but  with  more 
success.  The  space  between  a  moderate  pair  of  legs 
and  the  ground,  is  not  many  inches.  By  eschewing  stir- 
rups, the  donkey  could  fall,  and  the  rider  alight  on  the 
ground,  with  the  greatest  ease  and  grace.  Almost 
everybody  was  down  and  up  again  in  the  course  of  the 
day. 

We  passed  through  the  Ezbekieh  and  bj^  the  suburbs 
of  the  town,  where  the  garden-houses  of  the  Egyptian 
noblesse  are  situated,  to  Old  Cairo,  M'here  a  ferry-boat 
took  the  whole  party  across  the  Nile,  with  that  noise  and 
bawling  volubility  in  which  the  Arab  people  seem  to  be 
so  unlike  the  grave  and  silent  Turks;  and  so  took  our 
course  for  some  eight  or  ten  miles  over  the  devious  tract 
which  the  still  outlying  waters  obliged  us  to  pursue. 
The  Pyramids  were  in  sight  the  whole  way.  One  or  two 
thin,  silvery  clouds  w^ere  hovering  over  them,  and  casting 
delicate,  rosy  shadows  upon  the  grand,  simple,  old  piles. 


486  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

Along  the  track  we  saw  a  score  of  pleasant  pictures  of 
Eastern  life:— The  Pasha's  horses  and  slaves  stood  ca- 
parisoned at  his  door;  at  the  gate  of  one  country-house, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  Bey's  gig  was  in  waiting,— a  most 
unromantic  chariot:  the  husbandmen  were  coming  into 
the  city,  with  their  strings  of  donkeys  and  their  loads; 
as  they  arrived,  they  stopped  and  sucked  at  the  fountain : 
a  column  of  red-capped  troops  passed  to  drill,  with 
slouched  gait,  white  uniforms,  and  glittering  bayonets. 
Then  we  had  the  pictures  at  the  quay:  the  ferry-boat, 
and  the  red-sailed  river-boat,  getting  under  weigh,  and 
bound  up  the  stream.  There  was  the  grain  market,  and 
the  huts  on  the  opposite  side ;  and  that  beautiful  woman, 
with  silver  armlets,  and  a  face  the  colour  of  gold,  which 
(the  nose-bag  having  been  luckily  removed)  beamed 
solemnly  on  us  Europeans,  like  a  great  yellow  harvest 
moon.  The  bunches  of  purpling  dates  were  pending 
from  the  branches ;  grey  cranes  or  herons  were  flying  over 
the  cool,  shining  lakes,  that  the  river's  overflow  had  left 
behind;  water  was  gurgling  through  the  courses  by  the 
rude  locks  and  barriers  formed  there,  and  overflowing 
this  patch  of  ground ;  whilst  the  neighbouring  field  was 
fast  budding  into  the  more  brilliant  fresh  green.  Single 
dromedaries  were  stepping  along,  their  riders  lolling  on 
their  hunches;  low  sail-boats  were  lying  in  the  canals; 
now,  we  crossed  an  old  marble  bridge;  now,  we  went, 
one  by  one,  over  a  ridge  of  slippery  earth ;  now,  we  floun- 
dered through  a  small  lake  of  mud.  At  last,  at  about 
half-a-mile  off"  the  Pyramid,  we  came  to  a  piece  of  water 
some  two  score  yards  broad,  where  a  regiment  of  half- 
naked  Arabs,  seizing  upon  each  individual  of  the  party, 
bore  us  off"  on  their  shoulders,  to  the  laughter  of  all,  and 
the  great  perplexity  of  several,  who  every  moment  ex- 


I 


PIGMIES  AND  PYRAMIDS  487 

pected  to  be  pitched  into  one  of  the  many  holes  with 
which  the  treacherous  lake  abounded. 

It  was  nothing  but  joking  and  laughter,  bullying  of 
guides,  shouting  for  interpreters,  quai-relling  about  six- 
pences. We  were  acting  a  farce,  with  the  Pyramids  for 
the  scene.  There  they  rose  up  enormous  under  our  eyes, 
and  the  most  absurd,  trivial  things  were  going  on  under 
their  shadow.  The  sublime  had  disappeared,  vast  as  they 
were.  Do  you  remember  how  Gulliver  lost  his  awe  of 
the  tremendous  Brobdingnag  ladies?  Every  traveller 
must  go  through  all  sorts  of  chaif  ering,  and  bargaining, 
and  paltry  experiences,  at  this  spot.  You  look  up  the 
tremendous  steps,  with  a  score  of  savage  ruffians  bellow- 
ing round  you ;  you  hear  faint  cheers  and  cries  high  up, 
and  catch  sight  of  little  reptiles  crawling  upwards;  or, 
having  achieved  the  summit,  they  come  hopping  and 
bouncing  down  again  from  degree  to  degree, — the  cheers 
and  cries  swell  louder  and  more  disagreeable;  presently 
the  little  jumping  thing,  no  bigger  than  an  insect  a  mo- 
ment ago,  bounces  down  upon  you  expanded  into  a 
panting  Major  of  Bengal  cavalry.  He  drives  off  the 
Arabs  with  an  oath, — wipes  his  red,  shining  face  with  his 
yellow  handkerchief,  drops  puffing  on  the  sand  in  a 
shady  corner,  where  cold  fowl  and  hard  eggs  are  await- 
ing him,  and  the  next  minute  you  see  his  nose  plunged 
in  a  foaming  beaker  of  brandy  and  soda-water.  He  can 
say  now,  and  for  ever,  he  has  been  up  the  Pyramid. 
There  is  nothing  sublime  in  it.  You  cast  your  eye  once 
more  up  that  staggering  perspective  of  a  zigzag  line, 
w^hich  ends  at  the  summit,  and  wish  you  were  up  there 
— and  down  again.  Forwards! — Up  with  you!  It  must 
be  done.  Six  Arabs  are  behind  you,  who  won't  let  you 
escape  if  you  would. 


488  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

The  importunity  of  these  ruffians  is  a  ludicrous  annoy- 
ance to  which  a  traveller  must  submit.  For  two  miles 
before  you  reach  the  Pyramids  they  seize  on  you  and 
never  cease  howling.  Five  or  six  of  them  pounce  upon 
one  victim,  and  never  leave  him  until  they  have  carried 
him  up  and  down.  Sometimes  they  conspire  to  run  a 
man  up  the  huge  stair,  and  bring  him,  half -killed  and 
fainting,  to  the  top.  Always  a  couple  of  binates  insist 
upon  impelling  you  sternwards;  from  whom  the  only 
means  to  release  yourself  is  to  kick  out  vigorously  and 
unmercifully,  when  the  Arabs  will  possibly  retreat.  The 
ascent  is  not  the  least  romantic,  or  difficult,  or  sublime: 
you  walk  up  a  great  broken  staircase,  of  which  some  of 
the  steps  are  four  feet  high.  It's  not  hard,  only  a  little 
high.  You  see  no  better  view  from  the  top  than  you 
beheld  from  the  bottom;  only  a  little  more  river,  and 
sand,  and  rice-field.  You  jump  down  the  big  steps  at 
your  leisure;  but  your  meditations  you  must  keep  for 
after-times, — the  cursed  shrieking  of  the  Arabs  prevents 
all  thought  or  leisure. 

—And  this  is  all  you  have  to  tell  about  the  Pyra- 
mids? Oh!  for  shame!  Not  a  compliment  to  their  age 
and  size?  Not  a  big  phrase,— not  a  rapture?  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  had  no  feeling  of  respect  and  aw^e? 
Try,  man,  and  build  up  a  monument  of  w^ords  as  lofty 
as  they  are— they,  w'hom  "  imber  edax  "  and  "  aquilo 
impotens  "  and  the  flight  of  ages  have  not  been  able  to 
destroy ! 

— No:  be  that  work  for  great  geniuses,  great  painters, 
great  poets!  This  quill  was  never  made  to  take  such 
flights ;  it  comes  of  the  wing  of  a  humble  domestic  bird, 
who  walks  a  common ;  who  talks  a  great  deal  ( and  hisses 
sometimes)  ;  who  can't  fly  far  or  high,  and  drops  always 


THINGS   TO    THINK   OF  489 

very  quickly ;  and  whose  unromantic  end  is,  to  be  laid  on 
a  Michaelmas  or  Christmas  table,  and  there  to  be  dis- 
cussed for  half -an-hour— let  us  hope,  with  some  relish. 


Another  week  saw  us  in  the  Quarantine  Harbour  at 
Malta,  where  seventeen  days  of  prison  and  quiet  were 
almost  agreeable,  after  the  incessant  sight-seeing  of  the 
last  two  months.  In  the  interval,  between  the  23rd  of 
August  and  the  27th  of  October,  we  may  boast  of  hav- 
ing seen  more  men  and  cities  than  most  travellers  have 
seen  in  such  a  time: — Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta, 
Athens,  Smyrna,  Constantinople,  Jerusalem,  Cairo.  I 
shall  have  the  carpet-bag,  which  has  visited  these  places 
in  company  with  its  owner,  embroidered  with  their 
names;  as  military  flags  are  emblazoned,  and  laid  up  in 
ordinary,  to  be  looked  at  in  old  age.  With  what  a  num- 
ber of  sights  and  pictures, — of  novel  sensations,  and 
lasting  and  delightful  remembrances,  does  a  man  furnish 
his  mind  after  such  a  tourl  You  forget  all  the  annoy- 
ances of  travel;  but  the  pleasure  remains  with  you, 
through  that  kind  provision  of  nature  by  which  a  man 
forgets  being  ill,  but  thinks  with  joy  of  getting  well,  and 
can  remember  all  the  minute  circumstances  of  his  conva- 
lescence. I  forget  what  sea-sickness  is  now:  though  it 
occupies  a  woful  portion  of  my  Journal.  There  was  a 
time  on  board  w^hen  the  bitter  ale  was  decidedly  muddy ; 
and  the  cook  of  the  ship  deserting  at  Constantinople, 
it  must  be  confessed  his  successor  was  for  some  time  be- 
fore he  got  his  hand  in.  These  sorrows  have  passed  away 
with  the  soothing  influence  of  time :  the  pleasures  of  the 
voyage  remain,  let  us  hope,  as  long  as  life  will  endure. 


490  JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO 

It  was  but  for  a  couple  of  days  that  those  shining  col- 
umns of  the  Parthenon  glowed  under  the  blue  sk}^  there ; 
but  the  experience  of  a  life  could  scarcely  impress  them 
more  vividly.  We  saw  Cadiz  only  for  an  hour;  but  the 
white  buildings,  and  the  glorious  blue  sea,  how  clear  they 
are  to  the  memory! — with  the  tang  of  that  gipsy's  gui- 
tar dancing  in  the  market-j)lace,  in  the  midst  of  the  fruit, 
and  the  beggars,  and  the  sunshine.  Who  can  forget  the 
Bosphorus,  the  brightest  and  fairest  scene  in  all  the 
world;  or  the  towering  lines  of  Gibraltar;  or  the  great 
piles  of  Mafra,  as  we  rode  into  the  Tagus?  As  I  write 
this,  and  think,  back  comes  Rhodes,  with  its  old  towers 
and  artillery,  and  that  wonderful  atmosphere,  and  that 
astonishing  blue  sea  which  environs  the  island.  The 
Arab  riders  go  pacing  over  the  plains  of  Sharon,  in  the 
rosy  twilight,  just  before  sunrise;  and  I  can  see  the 
ghastly  Moab  mountains,  with  the  Dead  Sea  gleaming 
before  them,  from  the  mosque  on  the  way  towards 
Bethany.  The  black,  gnarled  trees  of  Gethsemane  lie  at 
the  foot  of  Olivet,  and  the  yellow  ramparts  of  the  city 
rise  up  on  the  stony  hills  beyond. 

But  the  happiest  and  best  of  all  the  recollections,  per- 
haps, are  those  of  the  hours  passed  at  night  on  the  deck, 
Avhen  the  stars  were  shining  overhead,  and  the  hours  were 
tolled  at  their  time,  and  your  thoughts  were  fixed  upon 
home  far  away.  As  the  sun  rose  I  once  heard  the  priest, 
from  the  minaret  of  Constantinople,  crying  out,  "  Come 
to  prayer,"  with  his  shrill  voice  ringing  through  the  clear 
air;  and  saw,  at  the  same  hour,  the  Arab  prostrate  him- 
self and  pray,  and  the  Jew  Rabbi,  bending  over  his  book, 
and  worshipping  the  INIaker  of  Turk  and  Jew.  Sitting 
at  home  in  London,  and  writing  this  last  line  of  farewell, 
those  figures  come  back  the  clearest  of  all  to  the  memory, 


THINGS    TO    THINK    OF  491 

with  the  picture,  too,  of  our  ship  saihng  over  the  peace- 
ful Sabbath  sea,  and  our  own  prayers  and  services  cele- 
brated there.  So  each,  in  his  fashion,  and  after  his  kind, 
is  bowing  down,  and  adoring  the  Father,  who  is  equally 
above  all.  Cavil  not,  you  brother  or  sister,  if  your  neigh- 
bour's voice  is  not  like  yours ;  only  hope  that  his  words  are 
honest  (as  far  as  they  may  be) ,  and  his  heart  humble  and 
thankful. 


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